


Take a Breath

by Ytteb



Series: Milsom Bay [14]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-06-29 02:48:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19820986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ytteb/pseuds/Ytteb
Summary: Tony's ill in Milsom Bay - what will his recovery look like? Familiar faces rally round.Another ‘Milsom Bay’ story but, once again, I don’t think it will matter if you haven’t read any of the others as I’ll explain the setting and ‘original characters’ as we go along.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StarWatcher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarWatcher/gifts).



> StarWatcher created some artwork for the Milsom Bay series - I recommend a visit to it!

“You want to see Daddy?”

Tali nodded vigorously and tugged on Jethro Gibbs’ hand to hurry him up.

Gibbs resisted the pull and bent down to Tali’s level, “Remember what we said?”

Tali frowned as she concentrated and then she nodded again.

“Good girl,” praised Gibbs but, unsure whether the little girl really did remember, continued, “You need to be gentle. Understand?”

Tali’s chin wobbled for a second before she managed to nod once more.

“Let’s go then,” said Gibbs, hoping they were doing the right thing. He pushed open the door to Tony’s room and paused for a moment as he took in the sight of Tony lying in his hospital bed looking pale and thin.

Tony didn’t react to the sound of the door opening but continued to gaze absently at the TV screen where, somewhat inappropriately, a daytime hospital soap was running.

Tali stayed with Gibbs, she seemed daunted by the silence in the room and by her father not immediately reacting to her presence. Gibbs took a breath and led her to Tony’s bedside and then, despite Tony still not reacting, lifted her on to the bed. “Careful,” he said softly as a warning not to disturb the drip or any of the monitors attached to her father.

Tali reached out carefully and patted Tony’s hand, “Daddy?”

Donald Mallard stiffened slightly in his chair by Tony’s bed and waited to see what would happen. The silence continued for a couple of seconds and then Tony looked away from the TV to look at his daughter. A couple more seconds and he managed a tired smile and turned his hand so that it was holding Tali’s.

“Missed you!” wailed Tali.

“Come here,” rasped Tony. Tali squirmed her way forward until she was in Tony’s arms.

Ducky and Gibbs exchanged a relieved look and smiled for what felt like the first time in days.

Tony had been in Wilmington hospital for about a week. At first the doctors had thought he was suffering from pneumonia, but he hadn’t responded to treatment and continued to run a high fever with a hacking cough. There had been real fear that he was not going to come through the illness until Brad Pitt, consulted from Walter Reed Hospital in Washington DC, suggested testing Tony’s coughed up mucus for Legionnaires’ Disease. That test had come back positive and treatment with the right antibiotic had begun. 

The attack had taken it out of Tony and, although the fever had gone, it had left him exhausted and silent – he hadn’t demanded the removal of his catheter or asked for pizza to be delivered. Tali had not been allowed to see him for a few days because the high fever had caused delirium which it was judged would be too distressing for her to see. In the end, Gibbs had suggested that she be allowed to see him in the hope that it would rouse him from his lethargy. And so it had proved; the words _come here_ were the first he had spoken since the fever broke.

Tali relaxed in Tony’s arms and promptly fell asleep – she had been restless and anxious away from him but, reunited, she reverted to letting him take care of her. Tony grinned as he heard her heavy breathing and followed her into slumber.

“You were right, Jethro,” said Ducky approvingly.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow in reply but decided not to give the doctor a list of all the times he had been right: it was enough that Tony might have turned a corner.

“Better tell him to keep away from hot-tubs and whirlpool spas in future,” he said curtly.

“Indeed,” agreed Ducky, “It was fortunate that nobody else in the party from Raleigh PD succumbed.”

Tony and other members of the Raleigh Police Department where he worked as Community and Federal Agency Liaison Officer (CAFALO) had attended the wedding of two co-workers at the Raleigh Metropolitan Hotel and stayed overnight. Several of them had enjoyed using the spa facilities and it was a few days after that that Tony became unwell. The working hypothesis was that Tony, and other members of the party, had been exposed to the Legionella bacteria there.

Tony had been staying at his cabin in Milsom Bay on the North Carolina coast when the illness had become severe and he had been taken to hospital. Alice Hardman, Tony’s housekeeper/nanny, had alerted Tony’s Milsom Bay friends – Millie Lacey the local café owner and John Sutherland an artist and near neighbour as well as her brother Colin who worked with Tony in the CAFALO office. Donald Mallard had been staying with Dr Murray having just finished one of his frequent spells of covering for the doctor in his clinic. Ducky had notified Jethro Gibbs of Tony’s illness and they had all maintained an informal rota to be at the hospital.

“You think he’ll be OK now?” asked Gibbs as he looked at the sleeping father and child.

“I believe so,” replied Ducky, “And now, I had best go and spread the good news. Unless,” he paused courteously, “You would prefer to be the one to disseminate the glad tidings?” Gibbs blank stare was answer enough. Ducky chuckled and went off to phone Milsom Bay.

Gibbs hadn’t been on his own for long before Detective Colin Hardman arrived.

“Sis said that you’d brought Tali to Tony.”

Gibbs nodded.

“Looks like it worked,” said Hardman gesturing towards the bed.

Gibbs nodded again.

Hardman suppressed a grin. He had something of a reputation himself for taciturnity, but Jethro Gibbs made him feel a novice in that regard.

“That why you came?” asked Gibbs curiously.

“Kinda.”

“Kinda?”

“It’s probably nothing.”

Gibbs sighed. He no longer worked for NCIS and so didn’t lead a team, but he hadn’t lost his distaste for reports made in a circuitous way. The sigh seemed to prompt Colin into marshalling his thoughts,

“It seems kinda crazy. I mean, the diagnosis is definite, isn’t it?”

Gibbs shrugged, “As far as I know. Doctors seem pretty certain. Why?”

“The manager at the Metro …”

“Metro?”

“Metropolitan Hotel. You know, where we all went for the wedding …”

“Hmm.”

“He’s worried about it being Legionnaires’ Disease … and the possibility Tony caught it there.”

“Understandable. Guess it’s not exactly good for business.”

“But he insists that the hotel follows all the hygiene regulations. They have a water management programme and carry out all the tests required. Says the hot tubs and whirlpools are almost new and are top of the range.”

“Mistakes happen.”

“Insists he’s going to check all their security footage to prove he’s right.”

“What? He thinks someone sabotaged the hotel?” asked Gibbs sceptically.

“I know. Sounds farfetched to me,” admitted Colin, “And he’s got a lot to lose so it’s in his interests to shift the blame.”

“Huh,” agreed Gibbs although he couldn’t help but remember how, years ago, someone had managed deliberately to infect Tony with pneumonic plague. “What you going to do about it?”

“Me? Nothing, it’s not exactly a cold case or CAFALO business.” (The CAFALO office had oversight of some cold cases in an expansion of their work). “But Chief Martin has someone looking into it and the State Public Health department will be investigating. They’ll find out.”

“Boss?” came Tony’s voice from the bed.

“Tony?”

“Can you move her? My arm’s gone to sleep.”

Gibbs grinned, “Sure. Come on, sleeping beauty,” he said as he shifted Tali a little. She grumbled slightly but didn’t wake up.

“How you feeling?” he asked Tony.

“Fine. Well, fin _er,_ ” he amended.

“Anthony!” said Ducky as he re-entered the room, “I have spread the good news …”

“What good news? Hey Col, did the money for the donut machine in the office come through?” asked Tony.

“Tsk, tsk,” smiled Ducky, “You know very well what I mean, young man. You gave us a fright, you know.”

“I know,” admitted Tony, “Frightened myself a bit too.” He smoothed Tali’s hair as he spoke, and the others realised that his fear had probably not been solely for himself. Fatherhood had changed his life view. “When can I get out of here?” he asked.

“We’ll see,” said Ducky noncommittally, “We’ll see.”

Tony’s planned words of protest were lost as he gave a huge yawn and his eyes drifted shut once more.

As it turned out, Tony was kept in hospital for two more days before being discharged to recuperate in Milsom Bay. Ducky was a firm believer in the restorative powers of a sea breeze and Tony, and his other doctors, were happy to agree.

“But,” said Ducky firmly, “You are not even to think about work for at least a month, Anthony. The illness was severe, and you need to take every precaution. Do you understand?”

“Sure,” said Tony easily.

Ducky decided to take Tony’s compliance at face value but resolved to keep a close eye on him.

“Col will be fine being CAFALO,” said Tony a little more convincingly.

“And Miss Hardman will be on hand to look after Tali … and you.”

“Well, no,” said Tony, “She’s already put off her vacation while I was ill, so I told her to go.”

“Anthony …” said Ducky in a tone which suggested a brewing disagreement.

“Ducky,” said Tony with a hint of a whine, “It’s important. It’s her first time away with Doug …” Tony paused as he considered the slight oddity of Alice hitting it off with John Sutherland’s somewhat unappealing son. From the puzzled look on Ducky’s face, he guessed the doctor had similar thoughts.

“Well …”

“And Tali’s signed up for this summer vacation play scheme down there. She’ll be gone most of the day and come back worn out from all those sandcastles, crayoning and bossing the other kids around.”

“Well …”

“And Mac is coming for a visit.”

“Mac?”

“You remember Mac?”

“Indeed. _Frazer McKenzie_. But I thought he was in Australia.”

“He was but now he’s back. He was going to come for a visit but when he heard what had happened, he offered to look after Tali again.” Mac had been Tali’s first nanny and had been sorely missed when he had taken another job which had taken him around the world.

“And what is Frazer going to be doing afterwards?”

“He’s looking around. Might do a PhD in child development or look for another job that takes him on a world cruise. Although …”

“Although what, Anthony?”

“Laura … Chief Martin – my boss – is looking for someone to look after her little boy. I thought I might … you know, steer Mac in her direction … once Ali is back, of course.” Tony finished with a smug look on his face at the way he had arranged things.

“And what about …”

“We never cook when we’re down here. Not with Millie just down the road.”

“Very well, you seem to have worked things out,” said Ducky sternly although he was inwardly congratulating himself on guilting Tony into making arrangements he might otherwise have neglected.

So, Tony went home with a daughter who was almost beside herself with joy at being reunited with both Mac and her father. Work was in Colin’s capable hands, Ducky, Dr Murray and Nurse Ratched (his somewhat unfortunately named assistant) were looking forward to monitoring his recovery while Millie would provide sustaining food. John Sutherland would provide company if he got bored and Ruskin the dog would happily sit on his feet … and Gibbs would … well, who knew what Gibbs would do?


	2. Chapter 2

A few days later, Tony was enjoying one of his frequent snoozes when he was awoken by a sharp knock at the door. Muttering under his breath, Tony went to see who had knocked rather than walking straight in as was the habit among most of the people he knew in the Bay.

"Yes?" he said in a less than welcoming tone when he opened the door.

"Mr DiNozzo?"

"Yes," Tony tried to say this in a more conciliatory manner as his guest could not perhaps have been expected to know that Tony was a sleep-aholic at the moment.

"My name is Philip Moss," he handed Tony a business card.

"I'm not really interested in buying anything …"

"I'm not selling anything …"

"Or," Tony looked at the crisp white shirt and smart business suit, "Investing in anything. And I have health insurance … and a pension plan …"

"That's good to know," said Moss, "But that's not what I'm here about."

"OK," said Tony wearily, "But can you get on with it … please," he added belatedly, "I'm not at my best at the moment," he said excusingly as he looked back at his comfortable recliner longingly.

"I know."

"You know?" Tony scowled at the thought that his visitor had deliberately disturbed someone he knew to be below par.

Moss gestured to the business card which lay ignored in Tony's hand, "I'm the manager … the owner … of the Metropolitan Hotel."

"Ahh," said Tony as things began to fall into place. He waited for the apology.

"I know that people are saying …"

"Actually, the _people_ are doctors and public health specialists," cut in Tony.

"They are saying that you contracted the Legionnaires' Disease at our hotel …"

"And it seems they have proof …"

"But I can assure you that we are meticulous in all our hygiene measures. At our last inspection we got a perfect report."

"Seems that something must have happened since that inspection."

"I don't see how. We haven't had any change in staff. And I'm very hands-on in my monitoring of our workers …"

Tony gazed at Moss and somehow didn't find that hard to believe. Philip Moss was in his forties with thinning brown hair which Tony commended him for not teasing into a combover. He was quivering with suppressed emotion and Tony could picture him as a fussy and demanding boss but perhaps also, one who would be unable to believe that people might not do exactly as they were told.

"What you want me to say?" asked Tony, "You know, sometimes people get careless … mistakes happen."

"Not at the Metropolitan Hotel," said Moss firmly.

"I'm sorry," said Tony although he was not entirely sure what he was apologising for.

"If it's confirmed that we're the source of your illness … it could be devastating for business," quavered Moss.

Tony stared back, even more unsure about what he was meant to say,

"You know, it's not up to me to prove or disprove where I picked the bacteria up … I'm not a scientist or a doctor. And it's not up to me to take any action … the Public Health people will do that …"

"It's at such a bad time for us," continued Moss, "We're in the middle of a big building project. We're adapting an old building in the grounds into a conference centre … it's a big project …"

"Sounds great," said Tony, trying to retreat back into the cabin, "Maybe it's somewhere my police department will want to book …"

"But the bank … the bank which is giving us the loan for the work … they may back out if my business plan is less solid than I told them …"

"Good luck with that," said Tony blandly.

Moss was silent at last and simply stood forlornly on the doorstep. For the first time, Tony felt a little sorry for him,

"What do you want me to do? Why did you come here?"

"You work for Raleigh PD. I thought you could perhaps … you know, make sure they investigate properly."

"Raleigh PD always investigates properly," said Tony haughtily.

"Of course, of course, I didn't mean to imply …. I just want to be sure that all avenues are … that they take into account our perfect record …" Moss seemed on the verge of tears.

"What do you think happened?" asked Tony curiously.

Moss brightened a little at the thought that Tony was engaging with him at last,

"I think it must be sabotage. I can't think of anything else."

"But why? I mean, why would anyone sabotage the hotel? Is there another hotel that's jealous of your success? Worried about the new conference centre?"

"No," admitted Moss, "There's plenty of business to go around … and a new conference centre will boost visitor numbers."

"Have you told the investigators all this?" asked Tony.

Moss nodded eagerly, "Yes. And I gave them a report … I have a copy here if you'd like it?"

"Mr Moss," said Tony firmly, "I'm on sick leave at the moment. I'm not involved with any investigation … and I'm not sure it's something Raleigh PD will be involved in anyway," He looked at Moss's despairing face and relented enough to say, "But I'll take a copy of your report. But that's all I can do."

"I see," said Moss, "Well of course. I hope you feel better soon … and make a full recovery …" Tony suppressed the thought that his death would be even worse for business, "… and perhaps we'll see you at the Metropolitan Hotel under happier circumstances …" he trailed off but still didn't seem ready to leave.

"Thank you for coming," said Tony insincerely and then, with sudden inspiration, said, "I'd recommend you stopping off at the café down the road on your way back. Millie serves excellent tea and cakes."

Moss brightened, "Really? That sounds intriguing. I'm always on the lookout for ideas about how to improve our own afternoon offerings … thank you … I shall make …" but he was speaking to a closed door – Tony had decided that walking away was the only way to get rid of Moss and also thought that perhaps the soothing powers of Millie and a perfect cup of tea might work miracles on Moss … although he hoped he would have gone by the time Tony paid his own tea-time visit.

XXXXXX

Ducky arrived punctually at 4 o'clock to take Tony down to Millie's and reunite him with Tali.

"You look a little tired," he observed sharply when he saw Tony still in his recliner rather than standing poised by the door as normal.

"Had a visitor," said Tony morosely.

"Indeed? Who, may I ask?"

"Philip Moss … the owner of the Metro Hotel. Came to plead his case."

"What case?"

"That his hotel is the cleanest ever and couldn't possibly be the source of that pesky bacteria which did for me."

"I see. I fear that Mr Moss is mistaken. Wilmington Hospital informed me today that the tests carried out at the Metropolitan Hotel proved positive. You undoubtedly were infected there."

"Hmm … "

"You seem surprised?"

"No, not really. Like I told him, I'm not a scientist or a doctor but I believed him when he said that he ran a clean place."

"Not clean enough apparently," said Ducky severely.

"I guess."

"Anthony, the tests are irrefutable. Surely you don't feel _sorry_ for him?"

"Kinda. But I expect Millie will have sorted him out."

Ducky opened his mouth to query this but decided, not for the first time, that the way the DiNozzo mind worked was sometimes beyond him so he simply opted for saying, "And are you ready to go? I'm sure your daughter is more than ready to enlighten you about the excitement of her day. What was she going to be doing today?"

"Finger painting and potato prints …"

"Potato prints!" exclaimed Ducky, "How marvellous! Why, that brings back some happy memories … in fact, I think it was one of the inspirations of my wishing to enter the world of medicine. You will ask why …" Tony shook his head at the futility of trying to get a word in edgeways, "It was because I was a little clumsy in the wielding of my paring knife and I managed to slice into my thumb. The amount of blood was extraordinary but the care I received made me most appreciative of the skill of medical people … that and the efforts made to resuscitate my little companion who swooned at the sight of my blood."

Tony swallowed anxiously, until now he had thought of Tali playing safely but now he had to face the possibility that his daughter might not be in the same condition as when she had left that morning. Ducky continued with his reminiscences as he drove along, happily unaware of the growing panic of his passenger.

Tony was out of the car as soon as it drew up outside the café. He hurried to the outside seating area where he expected to find his daughter,

"Tali!" he breathed as he saw his red-splattered little girl.

"Daddy! I used red!" shrieked Tali.

Tony's breathing returned to normal as he realised that the red was paint rather than blood and that Tali was proudly holding a piece of paper with red handprints and wobbly potato decorations also in brilliant scarlet.

"You sure did," he managed.

"All right, you've shown Daddy all your red," said Mac, "Let's get you ready for tea."

Tony wondered briefly how Mac would work this miracle but, as he watched, Mac simply peeled off an outer layer of what Tony hoped wasn't one of his shirts – underneath was revealed a relatively pristine child.

"Whatever you're paying him, it's not enough," came Gibbs' gruff voice behind them.

Tony grinned as he swung around to acknowledge Gibbs and then grunted as Tali jumped into his arms and began to chatter away about what she had been doing.

"Hi, Agent Gibbs," said Mac.

"Just Gibbs," replied Gibbs, "Not an agent now."

"Oh," said Mac, with most people that statement might have been an invitation to ask _why not_ but Gibbs wasn't most people, so Mac just settled for repeating, "Oh."

Millie came out at that moment with a tray of food. She gave Gibbs what for her was a cool nod, but she had obviously spotted his arrival as there was a mug of strong coffee on the tray. As everyone gathered around, she spoke,

"Tony, why did you send that man down to me?"

Tony frowned for a moment as he tried to listen both to Tali and to Millie, "Tali, you know you like fish sticks, so don't make a fuss. What man, Millie?"

"The man from the hotel. He was asking me all sorts of questions."

"What sort of questions, Mrs Lacey?" asked Ducky suspiciously.

"About whether I use baking powder in my scones, what type of flour I put in my pastry …"

"Sorry, Millie," said Tony penitently, "I sort of felt sorry for him … he's really stressed about the … well, you know."

"So you sent him to me?"

"Seemed a good idea at the time?" suggested Tony, "Was he a real nuisance?"

"Let's just say that he's _focussed_ ," said Millie moderately, "I gave him some valerian tea. It seemed to help."

Tony nodded smugly; he knew Millie would not let him down.

"What was the guy doing at your place?" asked Gibbs.

"Not sure, pleading his case. Insisting his hotel was as pure as the driven snow. You know."

"And I informed Anthony that there is no doubt that his _pure as the driven snow_ hotel was undoubtedly the source of the Legionella bacteria," said Ducky.

"I don't want to be around when he gets told that," said Tony, "I might not open my door tomorrow."

"I imagine that the gentleman in question will be more than occupied with Public Health officials for some days to come," said Ducky drily.

A few minutes later, as they moved on to dessert, Colin Hardman arrived. His partner was away on business and, with his sister also away on vacation, he had decided to spend the weekend at Millie's café and bed and breakfast.

The others made room for him at the table and Millie emerged once more with his food. It was one of what Tony termed _Millie's Mysteries_ that she rarely took a food order but seemed instinctively to know what people would want.

Tony told Colin about the visit from Philip Moss, vaguely thinking that it was a way of reassuring himself that Raleigh PD, if involved, would be as scrupulous as he had insisted they would be.

"Huh," said Colin, "There's been a development there."

"We know," said Ducky, "The hotel has been confirmed as the source of the outbreak."

"I know, Dr Mallard and this is probably nothing …" He turned to look at Gibbs who had groaned at the words he so hated, "And yes, it probably _is_ nothing. Seems really unlikely."

"What?" asked Tony absently as he observed Tali's eyes begin to droop and her head begin to make its way towards her plate of trifle. He put his arm around her and drew her a little closer to prevent from falling.

"Kid at the Community College. Apparently, he's been boasting that he caused the outbreak."

"A _kid_?" asked Ducky, "And how old might this young man be?"

"Hmm, 19, 20, I think. Not sure."

"And how does the young man allege that he caused the outbreak?" asked Ducky.

"Well, to be fair, he's stopped talking about it now. Reckon he's figured boasting wasn't the brightest thing he could do. As far as I know, he says he cooked something up in the chemistry lab."

Ducky tutted, "It seems most unlikely … a 19-year-old would not have the skills to do something so advanced. I fear the young man was, most unwisely, boasting … and lying."

"What's going to happen?" asked Tony.

"Public Health department officials are going to talk to him tomorrow. Sergeant Gomez is going with them – at Chief Martin's request."

"Clare will sort him out," said Tony with some relish.

"Indeed," said Ducky approvingly, "The young man should be warned most forcibly not to make such ludicrous claims, they are simply a waste of time for all concerned. Why I …"

"Think we'd better head off home," interrupted Tony, "This young lady needs her bed." He went to hoist Tali up, but Mac got there first,

"I've got her, Mr D. Better let me take her."

Tony frowned but gave way, reasoning that a deadweight Tali who had just consumed a large meal would probably be too heavy for him at the moment.

Gibbs, Ducky and Colin watched them go and then Gibbs stood up to leave.

"Must you go, Jethro?" asked Ducky.

Gibbs looked undecided for a moment or two but then said, "I've got a class tonight. Go to go."

Gibbs did some part-time work at the Marine Corps Caldwell Rehabilitation Centre – still known locally as the Pink House – teaching woodwork to recuperating Marines.

"Indeed," said Ducky, "But it is rather late in the day for a woodworking class. I would have thought that good light is needed for that undertaking."

"Not a woodworking class," said Gibbs in what was almost an embarrassed mumble.

"Then what is it?"

"Movie appreciation," replied Gibbs, a little pink in the face, "Picked up some stuff from DiNozzo over the years," he added excusingly.

"Indeed," said Ducky faintly and, before he could think of a reply, he saw that Gibbs had gone. "It seems most unlikely," he said to Colin, "But in fact, in my early days of knowing Jethro, he did display some extensive movie knowledge, but it tended to be eclipsed once Anthony joined the team."

Hardman nodded vaguely, unsure about how to respond. Ducky, however, was never in real need of someone to reply to him and, after a moment or two, turned his attention to a more important matter,

"Now, Detective Hardman, be good enough, if you will, to give me some more details about this extraordinary claim …"

Meanwhile, Tony and Mac let thoughts about Legionella bacteria be taken over by giving Tali her bath but, later that night, Tony couldn't help but remember the visit from Philip Moss and wonder if he was right after all about the cleanliness of his hotel.


	3. Chapter 3

Gibbs nodded to the prison guard on duty as he signed into the Vista Correctional Facility. He had recently started helping out with vocational classes after previously doing a spell at a juvenile detention centre. After a long career devoted to catching and imprisoning criminals, he had discovered an unexpected satisfaction in helping prisoners to avoid re-offending.

Gibbs walked to the small room which served as office for the officer responsible for the classes so he could check on any special instructions.

“Gibbs! Good morning,” said Officer Campbell, “You’ve got a full house today. Guess there’s a lot of our boys wanting to finish their bird boxes.”

Gibbs shrugged; he could still remember the satisfaction he got from his first completed woodworking project, so he wasn’t surprised that his students wanted to finish the boxes.

“Got a new student for you today,” continued Officer Campbell “Jonnie Wilshaw. Must be keen. Doesn’t have to be here.”

“Huh?”

“He was refused bail so he’s in pre-trial detention. Doesn’t have to be in class if he doesn’t want.”

“Yeah?”

Campbell was in the mood for chat and the inmates had not yet arrived for their class,

“Been a while since we had a _mad scientist_ here.”

“Excuse me?” Gibbs’ interest was finally piqued.

Campbell laughed, “Thought that’d get you! You know, he’s the kid who caused that Legionnaires’ disease outbreak.”

“Oh!” Gibbs had been busy with his Marines for a couple of days so wasn’t up to date with news, “So it was true then?” He saw Campbell’s quizzical look, “The guy who was infected – he’s a … I know him.” Gibbs had stumbled over the word _friend_ – he and Tony had gone through a very difficult patch for the last year or so and, although things were much improved, Gibbs still hesitated to claim something from the relationship that Tony might be unwilling to acknowledge.

“Huh,” said Campbell, “Yeah. He was in court yesterday and doesn’t seem much doubt he’s guilty.”

“That why he’s not out on bail?” asked Gibbs.

Campbell frowned, “No, don’t think so. He couldn’t raise any money for bail or have anywhere to go.”

“No family around?”

“No. Mother remarried and moved to Maine. Left Jonnie on his own.”

“But he’s just a kid, isn’t he? In Community College?”

Campbell shrugged, “Mom sends money sometimes – not very regularly or reliably as far as anyone can see. He’s got a small college fund from a grandparent which he’s using for his college tuition. Lives in a beat-up trailer on the edge of the city, has a rusty bike he cycles in on and he gets casual work where he can. Doesn’t seem to have many friends – nobody to look out for him.” He shrugged again; sadly, it was a familiar enough story to him.

“But he wanted to come to this class?”

“Think he was bored. Hey, they’re coming. Good luck, Gibbs!”

In many ways, teaching the prison class was much like teaching his recovering Marines except that he had to keep a close watch on any sharp tools and make sure nobody was over-interested in the glue. The students went to collect their projects and set about their tasks. When everyone was settled, Gibbs made his way to Wilshaw.

“What do you want to do?” he asked.

“I’ve never really done any woodworking,” said Wilshaw, “But I expect I’ll be good … OK at it.”

“Hmm,” said Gibbs. He looked at Wilshaw, wondering if he would be good or not. He saw a young man of medium height and thin – perhaps too thin, suggesting that he didn’t manage to eat too well normally. He had thick brown hair which, to Gibbs’ eyes, was too long and he had to keep pushing it out of his eyes. His fingernails were bitten but this didn’t seem to be a sign of nervous tension as, despite being in some serious trouble, Wilshaw gave the impression of being curious rather than anxious. “We’ll see,” said Gibbs.

Gibbs set Wilshaw to sanding the edges on a bird box which had been started by another inmate who had been transferred to another facility. “With the grain,” he ordered as Wilshaw had started off enthusiastically but erratically.

“What does that mean?”

“Like this,” Gibbs took the sandpaper and demonstrated.

It seemed that Wilshaw picked things up quite quickly and he was soon sanding efficiently enough to meet Gibbs’ standards. Gibbs was curious about the lad who had caused so much disruption,

“So, you like science then?”

Wilshaw thought about this, “I guess. I think what I really like is figuring things out.”

“Like?”

“Yeah, I really like that.”

“I meant, what sort of things have you figured out.”

“Oh. Yeah, I see. I liked figuring out how to infect the hot tub with bacteria,” he offered.

Gibbs was generally thought to be unshockable, but he found himself shocked by this. It looked as if Wilshaw had seen it as a problem to be solved without thought for any consequences. “Why?” he asked.

“Excuse me?” said Wilshaw absently; it seemed his current focus was on solving the problem of rough wood.

“Why did you want to figure out infecting the hot tub?”

“Because people said it would be hard,” he replied as if it was obvious.

Gibbs wondered if this was the spirit which had, in happier circumstances, led to Mount Everest being conquered and the North Pole reached but found himself unable to offer any praise. “Who said it would be hard?”

“I guess they didn’t actually say it would be hard. And I have to admit I was kinda surprised when it worked first time. But we were learning about transmission of diseases and I think someone asked … hey, I’m not sure I should be talking about this …”

“Yeah?”

“My lawyer … the guy they gave me yesterday … said I shouldn’t talk about it with anyone I didn’t know.”

“I think that’s good advice,” said Gibbs honestly.

“Although you seem nice,” said Wilshaw brightly.

Gibbs stared back as Wilshaw shocked him for the second time, “… good to know,” he managed eventually.

“Hey,” said Wilshaw as he noticed a flurry of activity on the next bench, “I think that guy’s just cut off his finger! There’s a lot of blood!”

Gibbs hurried across to see what the damage was: fortunately, it was just a relatively shallow cut although it was bleeding a lot. Wilshaw followed Gibbs and peered over his shoulder, “He might need a tetanus shot,” he said informatively, “Otherwise he might get real sick. How many stitches do you think he’ll need? Did you know that the tetanus vaccine prevents …”?

Gibbs tuned Wilshaw out and turned to signal to the guard at the door that help was needed. The injured prisoner was soon led out although he made sure to give dirty looks to Wilshaw who was still explaining about the merits of various treatments of possible infection.

Not long after this incident, the class finished, and the students filed out. Wilshaw made a point of shaking Gibbs by the hand as he left and thanking him for all his advice. Gibbs watched him go and tried to ignore a familiar feeling in his gut.

XXXXXX

The next evening, Gibbs found Tony sitting outside his cabin enjoying the last of the day’s sunshine. Tony put a finger to his lips to request quiet,

“Tali’s in bed. Exhausted by the play scheme but she might still wake up and feel that she missed out on a bedtime story although I told her three!”

“Where’s Mac?” asked Gibbs as he took a seat next to Tony.

“He’s decided to get back in training for the Iron Man – he’s gone for a run.”

The two sat in silence for a while until Tony said, “Something on your mind, Gibbs?”

Gibbs gazed at the waves lapping on the shore and considered his response. The road back to friendship with Tony had been a hard one for both men although Gibbs had come fully to accept his fault in the rift which had opened. In recent weeks and months, it had seemed that things were almost back to whatever had once passed for _normal_ and Gibbs had been grateful for that. Tony’s instinctive smiles of welcome whenever Gibbs showed up were important to him, but the memory of the fracture was still painful and Gibbs lacked the instinctive certainty he had once had in his dealings with Tony; he certainly didn’t want to risk the progress they had made. But, and it was a big but, Gibbs was used to trusting his gut.

“Saw Wilshaw today,” he said finally.

“Wilshaw?”

“Yeah. You know, the kid who …”

“Oh, _that_ Wilshaw! The mad poisoner of Raleigh?”

“They’re calling him the mad scientist at the prison.”

“You spoke to him?”

“He came to my woodworking class.”

“I see. Did he say anything? I mean, about being a mad scientist, not about how to make pencil boxes.”

“Bird boxes. They’re making bird boxes.”

“Bird boxes. Did he talk about anything else?”

“He talked about infecting the hot tub.”

“He talked about it?” said Tony in surprise.

“Yeah, just sort of came out with it. Then realised that perhaps he shouldn’t be talking about it to strangers.”

“Apparently his public defender had to stop him from pleading guilty right there and then. Doesn’t look like he’s going to deny anything. So perhaps it doesn’t matter that he talks to strangers.”

“I guess.”

“What?”

“What do you mean, _what_?”

“Gibbs, I know that look. Something’s bugging you. What is it?”

“I don’t know. I guess I felt sorry for him – and something didn’t feel right. He seemed bright but not, I don’t know, bursting with common-sense.”

“Gibbs, he did it. He admitted it. He admitted it to you,” there was a hint of irritation in Tony’s voice.

“I don’t get _why_ he did it.”

“You mean he didn’t tell you?”

“Said something about wanting to solve a problem.”

“So?”

“Doesn’t seem a good reason for doing what he did.”

“Gibbs, since when do you expect to _understand_ everyone’s motives?”

“I guess,” and Gibbs knew that there were lots of crimes he had solved where the true motivation of the perpetrators had eluded him.

“Then leave it,” said Tony briskly.

“Are we … you … everyone … sure that he did do it?”

“Gibbs, I _trust_ everyone involved with this. The kid did it, we don’t have to understand why he did it before he can be found guilty.”

Gibbs nodded, knowing that the matter of trust was important between him and Tony. And yet, his gut still spoke to him, “Could you get someone to re-test?” he suggested, “Abby would do it if you asked.”

“And if I don’t ask? What then, Gibbs? Will you go off and do it by yourself? Because you know better than everyone else?” Tony’s voice was beginning to rise.

“No,” Gibbs managed to keep his own temper, “That isn’t what I do. I came to you with my … doubts …”

A plaintive wail of _daddy_ came through the open window, “Great,” said Tony, “She’s awake. I think you’d better go, Gibbs before one of us says something we’ll regret.”

He stood up and walked back into the cabin leaving Gibbs wondering how much damage he had done to their fragile friendship.

XXXXXX

Tony didn’t sleep well that night as the conversation with Gibbs kept on replaying itself in his mind. He had experience of what could happen if Gibbs felt sorry for someone – especially a young person, so he felt justified in rejecting Gibbs’ doubts especially in the light of the lad’s confession.

The next morning, Tony managed to elude his well-wishers and take a very gentle stroll down to the café. He had left in time for a mid-morning snack, but his progress was so slow, and needed so many rests, that he didn’t arrive until lunchtime. Under other circumstances, Tony would have turned back immediately when he saw one of Millie’s guests, but prudence required him to sit down and recoup his energy.

“Mr DiNozzo!” said Philip Moss when he saw Tony’s arrival.

Tony nodded politely, deciding that, although the hotel had been sabotaged, he didn’t owe any particular duty of cordiality to its owner.

“I came to do some more research into Mrs Lacey’s cooking,” Moss went on to explain. Tony was conscious of Millie hovering in the background.

“That’s not quite true,” said Moss’s companion, “Preston Moss,” he said as he extended a hand, “Phil’s brother. He told me about this place, and I suggested we come here to make ourselves feel better.” Preston smiled as he finished talking: the physical resemblance to his brother was marked but he seemed to be more relaxed and easy-going.

“We’re conducting … or rather a specialist firm … is carrying out a deep clean of the hotel,” said Philip. “I wanted to be there to oversee proceedings, but Preston insisted I should let them do their work,” he smiled distractedly at his brother.

Preston leaned forward and said with mock confidentiality, “Actually, the contractors _bribed_ me to bring him away.”

“I know you think I’m a fusspot, Preston, but I just want things to go right. I want …”

“I know, I know,” said Preston gently as he patted him on the shoulder, “And it will be OK. You’ll see. This is just a setback. And God knows, we’ve had those before.”

“Yes?” asked Tony politely – and happier now that Millie had withdrawn to go and get him something for lunch.

“The hotel’s been in the family for generations,” said Preston, “Although it’s Phil who’s in charge now. I work at the Community College.”

“What sort of setbacks?”

“Nothing hygiene related,” said Philip quickly, “The Metropolitan Hotel prides itself on its spotless record.”

“Which will be restored once the case goes to court,” said Preston soothingly, “When people know about young Wilshaw and what he did. Everyone will know that you weren’t to blame,” he turned back to Tony, “No, we’ve had … some difficult circumstances. The family nearly lost the hotel during the Depression … it was the Preston Holby Hotel then, just managed to hold on to it, but we had to retrench a little. And then my uncle died after an accident – my grandfather became very ill from the shock of it all. My Mom inherited the hotel rather unexpectedly.”

“I see.”

“But I do feel a bit bad about Jonnie,” Preston went on.

“Jonnie?” asked Tony.

“Jonathan Wilshaw. He’s one of my students.”

“Why do you feel bad about him?”

“I felt sorry for him. He’s pretty much alone in the world, you know. And so …”

“And so?”

“And so I suggested he do some part-time work at the Hotel but …”

“But it didn’t work out,” said Philip curtly, “He had no concentration, always wanted to do things his way. I had to let him go.”

Tony nodded, wondering if perhaps he had found the motive for Wilshaw choosing the Metro for the attack. “What’s he like?” he asked curiously.

“Very bright, bordering on brilliant, said Preston.

“Grasshopper,” said Philip, he saw Tony’s blank stare, “His mind never seemed to stay on one subject for more than a second. In my opinion,” he said stiffly, “His understanding is, at best, superficial.”

“Phil’s prejudiced,” said Preston kindly, “Jonnie wasn’t a good fit at the hotel. I see things differently from seeing him at College. He’s fine there.”

Tony nodded but allowed his attention to be diverted by the arrival of his lunch.

XXXXXX

Tony awoke from what Ducky would have called his _postprandial siesta_ and what Tony called his _afternoon snooze_ , wondering what to do about Gibbs. He felt a familiar irritation at Gibbs’ contrariness, his ability to see things other people didn’t, his stubbornness and he remembered how Gibbs had not always been open with him … he decided to call him,

“Hey, Gibbs.”

“DiNozzo?” replied Gibbs.

“Might have a motive for Wilshaw targeting the Metro.”

“Yeah?” Gibbs sounded almost relieved.

“Seems he worked for the hotel, but it didn’t work out and he got fired. That sounds like a motive to me.”

“Sure.”

“So, you happy now?”

“Happy?” replied Gibbs in a tone which suggested complete unfamiliarity with such a concept.

“You OK thinking that Wilshaw is the culprit?” translated Tony.

“Seems cut and dried.”

“No need to look into it anymore?”

“Guess not.”

“And you’re not going to go rogue with your own investigation?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Or get Abby to run extra tests, just as a favour?”

“Tony, I’m not doing anything without telling you. I came to you with my doubts – nothing more.”

“Doesn’t sound like the Gibbs I know,” said Tony suspiciously.

“Don’t know what to say,” said Gibbs simply, “Just trying not to repeat old mistakes.”

Tony thought about pointing out that this sounded odd from someone who had been divorced three times but refrained. He held his cell as he wondered what to say; after a few seconds he heard Gibbs say,

“Tony? DiNozzo? You still there?”

“Sure. Sorry, Gibbs. I think you should ask Abby to run her tests …”

“Excuse me?”

“Or rather, I’ll ask Director Vance to let her do it as a favour to Raleigh PD.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not an agent anymore, you don’t get to have tests run.”

“Wise guy! You know what I mean, why do you want the tests run?”

“Partly because I trust your gut and it’s not happy.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“You said _partly_. What’s the other reason?”

“I trust your gut, but I trust mine too … and there’s something doesn’t feel right about all this. Trouble is I don’t have a clue what it is.”

“Me neither,” said Gibbs.

Gibbs’ sigh sounded through the phone at the same time as Tony’s. Tony hoped it was a sign that he and Gibbs were beginning to be in tune once more.


	4. Chapter 4

A week later, Tony was sitting slightly glumly in his cabin when there was a knock at the door. He hastily stowed some files away and went to see who his visitor was,

“McGoo!” he said delightedly when he saw Special Agent Timothy McGee standing there. “McProbie in charge! Come in!”

A reluctant grin dawned on McGee’s face as the once oh-so familiar mcnicknames washed over him, “How are you?” he asked.

“Fine, I’m fine,” said Tony dismissively, pointing to a chair, “So, what’s it like being Gibbs reincarnated?”

Tim took the seat and frowned, “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Hearing doesn’t always mean understanding,” said Tim, “Or, at least, not with you!”

“My thought processes are sometimes hard for more _earthbound_ minds to follow,” admitted Tony, “You know what I mean.”

“Nope.”

“Well, you’re agent in charge, aren’t you?”

A smug look crossed Tim’s face, “Just wanted to hear you say it!”

Tony grinned in acknowledgement of being tricked, “I taught you well, grasshopper. You will fulfil your destiny. So, how is it?”

Tim grimaced, “Think I’m beginning to understand about basement and bourbon.”

Tony nodded as he remembered a time when he too had glimpsed the pressures of being in charge of the MCRT. “And Bishop? How’s she shaping up as senior field agent.”

“Good, she’s good,” Tim seemed to realise that something else was required, “Not as good as you, of course,” he added hastily.

“Of course,” said Tony gravely before sighing in a paternal way, “Makes me proud. To see my little probies finding their feet in the big bad federal agency world …”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“And what about the other part of being Boss reincarnated? Hey, you’ve haven’t come here to escape, have you?”

“What?”

“You haven’t chipped any paintwork, have you? On the run because you’ve scratched the banister rail?”

“Tony …”

“’cos, if you’re on the run you’ve come to the wrong place. Gibbs is sort of around here most of the time, you know.”

“Tony! Stop! The house is fine …” Gibbs had rented his house to Tim when he had decided on a new direction in his life. Tim and Delilah were, of course, probably the most considerate tenants in the whole of DC but Tony figured that there must be some strain attached to living in Gibbs’ house.

“Yeah? But what’s it like living there?” asked Tony with genuine curiosity.

“It’s a nice house …”

“But?”

“Well built. Impeccably maintained, in perfect condition …”

“But?”

“It could do with some remodelling, I guess.”

“You mean, brought into the 21st century?”

“And we’re grateful to the Boss for renting it to us …”

“Of course. But?”

“I suppose it still feels weird. You know, walking in and not seeing Gibbs there. Hey, even the door being locked is odd. And it feels like a big responsibility, looking after Gibbs’ _sanctuary._ ”

“Abby been round much?”

“Excuse me?”

“You can’t fool me! I’m guessing Abby has been around to do some sort of investigation of the basement to try and figure out how he used to get those damned boats out. And you’d have been there holding the light for her. Am I wrong?”

Tim sighed, “No, you’re not wrong. But it’s a work in progress. We still haven’t worked it out.”

“How long’s the lease?”

“12 months.”

“Loads of time then.”

“I guess.”

“So, if you’re not on the run, what are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.”

“I’m touched,” said Tony putting a hand to his heart.

“I know that, I worked with you too long not to know that. I was at Norfolk. Figured I’d come and see you, maybe stay over.”

“Where’s Wheels?”

“Dubai – for a conference. She left couple days ago and won’t be back till next week.”

“And you couldn’t face the Gibbs house on your own?” asked Tony shrewdly.

Tim squirmed a little but didn’t answer directly, “Sounded pretty bad, what you had,” he said, “Are you really fine?”

“Getting there. ‘nother couple of weeks and I should be back at work.”

“You got Abby’s report on the Legionella bacterium?”

“Yes. She said she could tell that it hadn’t developed in the site where it was found. That it had probably been manufactured in a lab some way.”

“Why did you want her to do the check? I thought someone had admitted to planting it?”

“Gibbs’ gut … and mine,” replied Tony.

“Are you and Gibbs … OK now?” asked Tim cautiously.

“We’re getting there. Not taking anything for granted.”

“Good. That’s good. Tony, are you OK with it?”

It was Tony’s turn to look blank, “Now you talk in riddles, Probi-wan.”

“You know.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Well, I always figured … I guess we all did, that some day you’d take over from Gibbs and be Boss. And now, it’s me instead …”

“Tim, I left NCIS years ago. Yes, I guess I thought I’d take over from Gibbs one day … assuming that Vance would have let me … but I quit and when I quit, I let go of that dream.”

“Do you mind?”

“Why does it matter? You need my permission to be in charge?”

“No … it’s just that … well, sometimes I feel as if I shouldn’t be doing the job,” confessed Tim.

“Tim, you got the job fair and square because you’re the best person to do it. Who knows, if things were different and I’d still been there … but I’m not. And I love what I do … I’ve had chances to do something different, but I’ve stuck with what I’m doing. You’re a good guy but you don’t need to feel guilty about doing what you’re good at,” Tony looked at Tim in mock suspicion, “And if you’ve just tricked me into saying nice things about you …”

Tim raised a hand to stop him, “No, I didn’t … it was just a feeling …”

“Well, you can stop having that feeling. I’m good, you’re good, we’re all good.”

“OK. So, going back to you catching yet another deadly disease … why did the kid do it?”

Tony shrugged, “We don’t know. Might be some sort of grudge against the hotel – he worked there for a while and was let go. Seems more that he did it because he could …”

“So, you weren’t being targeted?”

“Why would I be targeted?”

“You’ve made enemies,” Tim pointed out, “When you were at NCIS … and what about since then?”

“I don’t really do the sort of stuff that makes people hate me anymore,” said Tony.

“And I guess hoping you’d get Legionnaires’ Disease would be a bit of a longshot,” said Tim, “I mean, how would people know you might be more vulnerable because of the plague? What?” he asked as he saw an odd expression on Tony’s face.

“Well,” said Tony, “When I was made CAFALO … it was a new job … and Laura - Chief Martin – tried to get publicity for it. You know, she wanted to emphasise the Community part of it so … so, there were some articles in the local newspapers …”

“Yes?”

“And some bright spark of a journalist wrote a sort of 10 things you need to know about Lieutenant DiNozzo …”

“Let me guess, one of the 10 things was that you’d had pneumonic plague?”

“Yep. I didn’t tell them; I don’t know how they found out, but I figured they’d got some gossip from the Navy Yard.”

“So, someone down here might have known that you might be more susceptible …”

Tony winced at the term _susceptible_ being applied to him but nodded, “Still doesn’t make sense though. Why would _Jonnie Wilshaw_ want to infect _me_?”

“No idea,” said Tim, “But there doesn’t seem much doubt that he was responsible.”

“No. And the hotel CCTV shows him on the premises the day before we were all there.”

“And he admits it?”

“Seems almost proud of it.”

“Then why the doubt? Oh wait, I know, the Gibbs and DiNozzo guts.”

“Tim, that biomedical engineering degree …”

“From Johns Hopkins …”

“As you say … did that involve much lab work?”

“Some. Why?”

“I was just wondering, doing what Wilshaw did to somehow … generate that pesky germ thing. Would it have been difficult?”

“Wasn’t anything I ever did. Never really wanted to spread disease – I was more into the idea of helping people.”

“Humour me. Would it be difficult to do?”

“I would think.”

“Wilshaw’s just coming to the end of his first year at Community College. Would he know enough to do all what he said he did? Ducky’s first instinct was that it wouldn’t be possible.”

Tim frowned as he thought, “It would be hard to do. But who knows, he might be brilliant … or he might have been lucky … I would have said it was unlikely … but it seems to have happened, doesn’t it?”

“You’re right,” agreed Tony, “Maybe we should just let it go. But I’ll let Laura know about your theory that he might have been after me specifically rather than it just being random. Might make a difference in getting him to speak.”

“Glad to be of service. Where’s Tali, by the way?”

“I’m pleased to say that Milsom Bay is running a summer play scheme and my daughter is taking full advantage of it. She comes home happy and tired. She’s learning to be a pirate today – Mac and I had to make her a sword last night. And she’ll be even happier to see her godfather.”

Tim grinned at this.

“You can stay here if you want,” offered Tony, “If you don’t mind the couch?”

“It’s OK, I booked a room at Mrs Lacey’s.”

“I thought she was fully booked.”

“Don’t you remember? We were supposed to be down here this week anyway? You know, you were going to be doing a mix of CAFALO and cold cases … and come down here at the weekend. I decided to keep the reservation just in case. And,” said Tim in a stern voice, “Looks as if you’ve got some case files already,” he pointed at the files which Tony had not concealed very well.

“Busted! Just don’t let Ducky know! I already some files to look at … and last few days, I’ve begun to get antsy, so I figured there’d be no harm in looking at them.”

Tim attempted a firm look, “OK, I won’t tell Ducky if …”

“If?”

“You don’t tell Gibbs that I chipped a tile in the bathroom. I’m scouring the internet to find a match, but they haven’t made that type for 20 years … I might have to get one made specially.”

Tony held out his hand and Tim shook it in agreement.

“Remind me what we were going to be looking at,” asked Tim, “I got the files out weeks ago but didn’t look at them.

“Three cold cases. 2014 assault on a Petty Officer in Raleigh; 2013 attack on a bank truck carrying cash destined for an aircraft carrier, the civilian driver was badly injured and 2012 theft of laboratory equipment on its way from the US Naval Research Laboratory to Camp LeJeune – civilian was hurt then as well. We had to put it on hold when I got sick. Col – Detective Hardman – is keeping up with the Community stuff and any Federal liaison work that came in, but he didn’t have time for cold cases.”

“Any thoughts yet? And don’t worry, I won’t tell Ducky.”

“Not really. I fell asleep reading the first one!” confessed Tony.

At that moment, they heard the sound of running feet and Tali burst through the door wielding her sword and with a pirate hat slipping over one eye. Thoughts of cold cases and Legionnaires’ Disease were abandoned in the face of welcoming the mini buccaneer home.


	5. Chapter 5

Tim drove Tony and Tali down to the café for their evening meal where despite, his bravado, Tim swallowed a little anxiously when he saw Gibbs there in discussion with Millie.

“Oh, hey, Boss … I mean, not Boss – Gibbs. Good to see you,” he managed.

Gibbs directed a level stare at Tim of the sort which had had suspects squirming in previous years, “Tim,” he said.

“House is great,” said Tim, “Perfect. Still perfect.”

Gibbs’ eyes narrowed slightly, “Good to hear.”

“Yes, it’s fine. Absolutely fine.”

Tony decided to take pity on Tim and pointed to the sketch book on the table, “Taking up painting, Gibbs?”

“Nah, I’ll leave that to Sutherland.” John Sutherland, Tony’s neighbour and friend, was an artist skilled in both portraiture and seascapes.

“Mr Gibbs has designed a hutch for me,” said Millie.

“You’re getting a rabbit?” asked a puzzled Tony. Tali’s ears pricked up, she was always hoping for more animals in the DiNozzo household.

“It’s a type of dresser, DiNozzo,” said Gibbs.

“I’ve got some old china – nothing valuable – but I thought it would make a nice display in the café. Mr Gibbs offered to build a hutch for me,” said Millie.

Tim and Tony looked at the design while Millie disappeared, with Tali trailing after her, to get their meals.

“It’s good, Boss,” said Tim, “I mean, of course it’s good – you designed it so, of course it would be good. But it’s really good … I …”

“What made you decide to make it?” asked Tony.

Gibbs shrugged, “Wanted a bigger project, I guess. Supervising all those bird boxes is OK but it made me itch to do something larger.”

“So, now you’re actually living within _sight_ of the ocean you’ve decided to stop building boats?” teased Tony.

Gibbs shrugged again, “Depending on how this one goes I might do a bit more furniture building or maybe restoration. It’d be interesting.”

“Where will you do it?” asked Tim in sudden anxiety that Gibbs might want his basement back.

“Don’t worry, Tim, I’ll find somewhere here. Industrial unit to let, might be somewhere in Milsom Bay even.”

“I wasn’t worried,” protested Tim.

“Saw Wilshaw again yesterday,” said Gibbs deciding he’d tormented Tim enough.

“Yeah? He say anything about why he did it?” asked Tony.

“No. He’s got a new lawyer. Not a public defender this time.”

“Huh.”

“He looks better.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” said Tony sarcastically, “I’m so glad that my _poisoner_ is doing OK.”

Gibbs ignored the tone, “Reckon he quite likes being in prison. Regular meals, somewhere warm and dry to sleep and being told what to do, being noticed – think it makes a change for him.”

“So, where’d he get the money for a lawyer?” asked Tony, “Thought he didn’t have any. His Mom come through?”

“No, said that Mr Moss arranged it.”

“Preston?”

“Guess he figures it’s something that teachers should do for their students,” suggested Gibbs.

“Can’t imagine any of _my_ teachers doing something like that for me,” grumbled Tony.

“Might be because they were more focussed on expelling you,” said Tim.

Tony grinned in acknowledgement, “You might be right … but don’t say that in front of Tali. I don’t want her to know about my chequered school life until she finishes university – if then.”

Conversation was suspended while they all tucked into their food. Philip Moss arrived for yet another consultation with Millie – fortunately for Tony’s digestion, it was after they had finished eating. Moss said he had come to discuss whether it was better to have Bakewell tarts frosted or left plain in the hotel English afternoon teas, but Tony saw his gaze drifting to the ocean, and he wondered if the hotel manager had other reasons for wanting to visit Milsom Bay.

Moss spotted the sketchbook open at the dresser design,

“Marvellous,” he said eagerly, “This is so … so … elegant and simple. It has a Shaker quality …”

“Mr Gibbs drew it,” said Millie who had come almost to like Moss but who wasn’t averse to steering him someone else’s way.

Nobody glared at Millie, but Gibbs tried a hard stare – without avail as she simply smiled and withdrew to the kitchen. Moss didn’t notice the byplay but sat down next to Gibbs,

“I’m very interested in woodwork,” he confided.

“You do much?” asked Gibbs in the hope that Moss would take over the conversation and describe his projects.

“Oh, no. Alas, I’m not very competent but I’m a great admirer of fine craftsmen – and women, of course. I spent a happy holiday once looking at the work of Grinling Gibbons in the churches of London. Are you familiar with his work?”

It turned out that Gibbs had heard of the woodcarver, so he and Moss embarked on a discussion of his works – a discussion largely tuned out by Tony and McGee. McGee spent the time with his attention divided between listening to Tony telling his daughter why she couldn’t have a rabbit and wondering where he could get a replacement tile for Gibbs’ bathroom. He emerged from his distraction when Moss changed direction,

“Would you like to come and see the woodwork at the hotel? Well, strictly speaking, not the hotel. I was telling Mr DiNozzo a few days ago, we’re converting an old barn and farmhouse into a conference centre … but I’m very keen that we keep the sense of the nineteenth century alive. There’s a magnificent fire surround but it’s in need of some care … would you be interested, Mr Gibbs?”

“It’s going ahead then?” asked DiNozzo, “You seemed doubtful when you told me about it.”

“Now that Jonnie Wilshaw is known to be the culprit, and it will all come out in court, the banks are happy to go ahead with the loan,” said Moss, “And the insurance company look set to pay out on my claim for loss of earnings and the cost of the clean-up. I think everything will be fine,” said Moss sunnily.

“Good,” said Tony unconvincingly. It seemed that the culprit was happy in prison, Moss was able to go ahead with his plans while Tony was the only one worse off as he was still recovering from his illness.

“So,” said Moss, “Will you think about it?”

“I guess,” said Gibbs, thinking that his restoration career had got off the ground within seconds of his mentioning it.

“Great. I’ll call you to arrange a time.”

Moss and Gibbs left soon after; the others could hear them discussing whether Gibbons’ work was superior to that of Alois Lang. Tony shook his head, “Who’d have thunk it. Gibbs has a new best friend.”

XXXXXX

“Huh, that’s odd,” said Tony the next day. Tim had covertly come to the cabin so that he and Tony could begin looking at the cold case files. Tony reasoned that so long as he only worked from home, he could face Ducky down – his confidence did not extend, however, to announcing his plans to Ducky or allowing Tim openly to come calling.

“What’s odd?” asked Tim, not looking up from the file he was perusing.

“Philip Moss … and Preston Moss.”

“Preston Moss?”

“Yes. Why? You sound excited, McAgentinCharge.”

“He was at MIT when I was. Well, a couple years ahead of me. If it’s the same one, but it’s not a common name.” Tim’s fingers flew across the keys of his laptop as he began his research. “Yes, think it’s the same one. Says he’s teaching at Community College down here. Huh.”

“Why _huh_?”

“Well, he was well thought of. Seemed likely to be a highflyer.”

“What was he doing there?”

“At MIT? He was a biologist but he moved into epidemiology …”

“Epidemiology? Is that what I think it is?”

Tim thought that it was rare for him to know what Tony might think about anything but gave him the benefit of the doubt, “Yes, it’s to do with how diseases can be spread … and other stuff.”

“Hmm,” said Tony, “Still, can’t see why it matters.”

“Epidemiology is very important,” insisted Tim, gearing up to defend a science, “It can …”

“Relax! I wasn’t impugning science,” said Tony in a mollifying voice, “I mean, I guess Preston Moss being a biologist isn’t relevant to me getting a disease in his brother’s hotel.”

“You mean that Philip Moss is Preston’s brother?” asked Tim even more excitedly.

“Yes. And that’s important, why?”

“I didn’t know Philip, but he’d been at MIT before Preston. Even more brilliant than Preston.”

“And what did he do?”

“Some sort of science … I’ll look it up … yeah, he was a biochemist.”

Tony remained silent as Tim continued to look at the academic records of the Moss brothers – he still couldn’t see how their science degrees mattered in this case apart from it being possible that Wilshaw had learned how to ‘do’ his infection work from a brilliant teacher.

Tim looked up from his laptop and remembered how the conversation had started,

“Why did you say the Mosses were odd?”

“Well, the cold cases. I did wonder if the 2014 assault case in Raleigh might be linked to Jonnie Wilshaw …”

“Yeah? How?”

“Name of one of the suspects at the time is Wilthaw – I wondered if that was too much of a coincidence …”

“And? Don’t know, we need to check if our Wilshaw has ever changed his name.”

“Doesn’t explain why you said the Mosses’ name.”

“No, it doesn’t does it? I picked up the 2013 bank truck raid case – you know, the one where the civilian driver was injured.”

“And?”

“The civilian driver was Philip Holby …”

“I’m waiting.”

“It rang a bell. Preston Moss told me that the hotel used to be called the Preston Holby. When I looked at the case notes, Philip Holby named his next of kin as his sister – Marianne Moss. He was Philip and Preston’s uncle.”

Tim looked at his notes, “Philip Holby was taken hostage by the raiders … and they shot him before the police found him a few hours later.”

“He died a few weeks’ later,” said Tony, “Preston said that his uncle had died unexpectedly and that the shock killed his father – their grandfather – and that his mother inherited the hotel as a result.”

“Why was someone who owned a hotel working as a security guard?” asked Tim.

“Don’t know … hang on … looks as if he owned the security firm. Occasionally did a ride-along to check on how his guys were performing. Sounds as if Philip Moss takes after him.”

“Excuse me?”

“Let’s just say that Philip Moss is a micromanager … doesn’t take much on trust.”

“According to Preston Moss’s MIT Alumnus page he was doing research at Princeton at that time.”

“What about Philip? Where was he?”

“Hmm, let me check … his page isn’t as detailed as his brother’s … let me try something else … yeah, here it is … he was teaching at Yale. Do you think that’s why they left? You know, to come run the hotel for their Mom?”

“Could be. Although it’s Philip who runs the Metro, not Preston.”

“Does any of this matter?” asked Tim, “I mean, just because you know them? They were both miles away at the time … and it looks as if their uncle’s death disrupted their lives. Why would they be involved in any way?”

Tony shook his head, “Yeah, you’re right. It’s just a coincidence … and neither of us works for Gibbs so we don’t have to be horrified at the idea of coincidences.”

“No, you’re right,” said Tim, “Although …”

“Although?”

“Guess which security company was transporting the lab equipment in our other cold case?”

“The uncle’s?”

“Knew you were Gibbs’ senior field agent for a reason.”

“Was Philip Holby a ride-along that time?”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“It can’t mean anything,” declared Tony, “Like you said, just because I know them … doesn’t mean anything. I know lots of people …”

“I’ll do a background check on them,” said Tim. Like Tony, he couldn’t see how the brothers could be involved but, like Tony, he couldn’t abandon his distrust of coincidences.

“Don’t tell Gibbs,” said Tony, “He doesn’t need to know that we still follow his rules!”

Tim nodded fervently.

“And Tim, there’s a place in the Bay that does architectural salvage … might be worth checking there for your missing tile!”

Tim wondered what it said about him and his relationship with Gibbs that this was the best news he had had for days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know if Bakewell tart (or pudding) is popular in America but it was too delicious to leave out!


	6. Chapter 6

It was graciously decided by Ducky and the other doctors that Tony could resume light duties so long as he worked from home, worked half days only, stopped to rest whenever necessary and undertook to notify them if he should feel unwell or concerned at any time. Tony had smiled politely and privately resolved to interpret the instructions as he saw fit.

Tim spent some of the weekend searching increasingly remote parts of _Arthur’s Architectural Salvage_ _Yard_ as recommended by Tony but, so far, he had failed to locate the precise tile he needed. It was in a somewhat gloomy mood therefore that he drove to Raleigh on the Monday to link up with Detective Hardman to go and talk to Preston Moss at the William Henry Haywood Community College.

“Detective,” he said politely as he met Colin outside the main entrance.

“Agent,” said Hardman equally politely, “Your lead,” he said with continued courtesy, “I’m just here to help with any liaison.”

The two grinned at each other once the niceties were over and strode into the building and approached the reception desk.

“Special Agent McGee, NCIS and Detective Hardman, Raleigh PD,” said Tim as he produced his credentials, “We have an appointment with Mr Moss.”

The young man behind the reception desk laughed, “You mean _Dr_ Moss.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s _Dr_ Moss.”

“Oh, I see. Where can I find him?”

“2nd floor, turn left at the stairs and he’ll either be in his office along the corridor or in the lecture room at the end. Should be in his office,” came the reply.

The receptionist was right, and McGee and Hardman found Preston Moss in his office.

“Agent McGee … I was right,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“When Raleigh PD phoned to make this appointment, I thought I recognised the name … from the MIT alumni page, you know. And it’s you! Well, this is a pleasure … always good to meet a fellow Beaver!”

“Er, yes … yes, it is. This is Detective Hardman.”

“I didn’t go to MIT,” said Colin helpfully, “But I had a beaver soft toy when I was a kid.” Tim looked at him askance and wondered if Tony was rubbing off on him.

Meanwhile, Moss smiled dutifully, “Look, I’ve been teaching all morning. How about we go to the cafeteria for coffee? And you can tell me what you want to talk to me about.”

“That would be fine, Dr Moss,” said Tim.

“Oh, please, call me Preston.”

The other two nodded although Colin wondered if the invitation applied to him as well as Tim.

“Hey,” said Moss, as they settled themselves with their drinks, “This isn’t about Jonnie, is it?”

“Dr … I mean, Preston?” asked Tim.

“Oh, you may not know … although I’m sure Detective Hardman does … there was an incident … a student of mine – absolutely brilliant, but … anyway, he managed to manufacture some bacteria which transmitted Legionnaires’ Disease to someone in my family’s hotel.”

“I see. Yes, I’ve heard something about it,” said Tim neutrally.

“And Jonnie’s in prison as a result,” said Moss sadly, “Such a shame. Obviously, he has a great mind but none of the common sense which it would be useful to have alongside. Oh well, I suppose it’s not an uncommon story.”

“It wasn’t my speciality,” said Tim, “But I’d have thought it was difficult to do … especially for someone …”

“At Community College?”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I was going to say that he must not have advanced in his studies enough to be capable of pulling it off,” said Tim.

“I see … yes, of course. And I think ordinarily you’d be right but Jonnie is very bright … and there may have been a dash of good luck …”

“Good luck?” interjected Colin coolly, “Wilshaw’s stroke of _good_ luck nearly cost my lieutenant his life.”

“Of course, I didn’t mean to imply … it’s just that in purely _scientific_ terms it might have been luck rather than judgement that enabled Jonnie to succeed.”

“Huh,” said Colin.

“Anyway,” said Tim, “That isn’t what we wanted to talk to you about. We wanted to talk to you about the raid on the armoured van in which your uncle Philip Holby was involved.”

“Oh. Oh, I see. Why is … what’s your agency called again?”

“NCIS.”

“Thank you. Why is NCIS interested?”

“The money in the truck was on its way to an aircraft carrier. That makes it our business.”

“I see. OK, what is it you want to know? I wasn’t in Raleigh at the time, I was doing research at Princeton.”

“Yes, we know. _I_ checked the alumnus page as well. We just wanted to check what your uncle might have told you about the raid.”

“I haven’t been questioned before.”

“Well, as you said, you weren’t here at the time. But this is a cold case investigation. We try to look at cases in a more … holistic way, looking for pointers which might have seemed too small at the time.”

“I see. I’m afraid I can’t help. By the time I got back to Raleigh, Uncle Phil was very ill – we didn’t get much time to talk. I was only really in time to say goodbye. You’ll understand that it was a very difficult time.”

“Of course …”

“And my grandfather was sick from the shock. I’m not sure I can even be coherent about how I got to Raleigh let alone remember any conversations in detail.”

“So, he never said anything about the raid?”

“’Fraid not. I’m sorry I can’t help you.”

“Thank you for seeing us, Dr … Preston.”

“My mother inherited the hotel … I decided to give up Princeton and come back to be near her.”

“But your mother doesn’t live in Raleigh, does she?” asked Colin.

A look of regret passed over Preston’s face, “No, the hotel brought back too many unhappy memories …”

“Did someone die in the hotel?” asked Tim in surprise.

“No, but the whole situation around my uncle upset her very much. After a few months, she decided to go and live with an old college friend in California.”

“But you stayed here? Even though your mother had moved away?”

Preston shrugged, “What can I say? Once I got home, I remembered how much I’d missed it all … and I found I enjoyed teaching.”

“And your brother came home too?” asked Colin.

“Family’s important to us both. Philip runs the hotel on a day to day basis, but we consult on big decisions.”

“So he gave up science as well?” said Tim.

“Like I said, family’s important – and I haven’t given up science, I just teach now rather than do research. And it’s important, passing the torch of knowledge on is vital. I’m sure you can remember an inspirational teacher, Tim … I can call you Tim, can’t I?”

Tim _could_ remember teachers who had shaped his life, but he couldn’t help but ask, “And that’s what you are? An inspirational teacher?”

“I hope so, I do hope so.”

Tim decided to finish the interview and take Colin away before he could make a comment about teachers who seemed to _inspire_ students to kill people.

“Thank you for your time … Preston.”

XXXXXX

Meanwhile in Milsom Bay, Tony was reading the case files of the cold cases and trying to spot something that had eluded the original NCIS investigators. He was almost relieved that they hadn’t been investigated by the MCRT but by one of the other teams.

After staring at the files for an hour or so, Tony decided to head down to the café for whatever Millie decided he needed and to sit there and look at the cases once more: he sometimes found that a change of location, or just a break, gave him a new insight. There was something niggling him about the report, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

With his fitness returning, the walk to the café no longer exhausted him which meant that he was ready to grab the opportunity that presented itself when he arrived,

“Mr Moss,” he said when he saw Philip Moss sitting watching the ocean, “Have you come to consult with Millie again?”

“Lieutenant DiNozzo! How are you?”

Tony looked at him a little coolly, suspecting that the enquiry was not a polite nothing but still driven by concern that the hotel might face a hefty compensation claim.

“I’m getting there,” he said with a sad sigh designed not to put Moss at his ease, “Actually, I wanted to talk to you. Do you have time?”

Moss fidgeted a little, “Well, I’m supposed to be seeing Mr Gibbs … we’re heading to the hotel so he can look at the work needed on the fireplace … but, of course, I can spare you as much time as you need,” the anxious look at his watch belied his words but he gestured to Tony to sit down.

Millie came sailing out with a glass of milk and some cinnamon rolls. Tony sniffed to see if he could work out what she had supplied for Moss and decided that it was coffee rather than a soothing valerian tea – she must think he had calmed down some.

“I’m not sure how much I should be talking about your … illness,” said Moss, “I hope you understand …”

Tony nodded, he was more than fed up with that subject, “Raleigh PD are liaising with NCIS – the Naval Criminal Investigative Service - on some cold cases. It’s about two of those that I’d like to talk to you.”

“Oh. You mean the case in which my uncle was shot?”

“Yes. And also, one the year before that. Theft of lab equipment – I believe your uncle owned the security firm that was managing the transfer?”

“I know that he owned a security firm. I didn’t know about any previous thefts.”

“No?”

“I wasn’t living here at that time.”

“Ah, no. You were teaching at Yale, I believe.”

“You’ve done research on me?” Moss sounded a little panicked.

Tony tried the effect of a long stare before saying, “Well, we looked at your page on the MIT alumnus website.”

“Preston likes to keep it up to date.”

“So, you were at Yale at the time.”

“Yes. So I don’t see how I can help with you about either robbery. I wasn’t here.”

“I know that. I wanted to see if your uncle ever spoke to you about the robbery. It may be that he remembered some detail about his attackers which he hadn’t shared with the police.”

“No. It was a while before I was able to get here.”

“From Yale? It wouldn’t take more than a day, would it?”

“Indeed, but I was on vacation on Baffin Island – watching Inuit carvers at work. It took time for the message to get to me and then for me to get back.”

“I see. But you came back?”

“Of course. And Preston got here almost immediately so the family weren’t alone.”

“So you spoke with your uncle?”

“Yes, but not about the robbery … it didn’t seem appropriate … tactful.”

“Were you close?”

“I would say so. My father died when Preston was a baby … and I was named after Uncle Philip and yes, we were close. He took the place of our father.”

“And he didn’t say anything about the robbery?”

“Lieutenant DiNozzo, as a law enforcement officer your instinct might be to interrogate people about what they saw when a crime was committed but I fear my instinct was to try and provide comfort and support.”

“OK. And you stayed on in Raleigh after your uncle passed?”

“Is that relevant to your enquiries?”

“In my experience the oddest things can be relevant,” said Tony a little pompously, “And,” he added a little less pompously, “I guess I’m curious. I’m told you had a brilliant career ahead of you at Yale and yet you threw it all up to come home.”

“It’s a beautiful part of the world, why wouldn’t I want to come back?”

“The brilliant career.”

“I came back to support my mother. My uncle dying was a shock and then their father died shortly afterwards. She needed help to run the hotel.”

“Did it need both of you to give up your careers? Don’t you trust one another to run the hotel properly?

Something flickered in Moss’s eyes but then it was gone, “We have differences of opinions sometimes but … we’re brothers … we work around them.”

“Hmm. And your mother isn’t involved now with the running of the hotel?” 

“No, she moved away after a few months. She passed ownership to Preston and me. I take a salary for running the hotel while we share any additional profits or decide how to use them.”

“Like the restoration project?”

“Yes, but as I said before, that’s reliant on getting the loans from the bank.”

“And it’s going ahead now?”

“So long as the court case goes as expected and the hotel is exonerated then the banks will release the money. It’s not quite as good as I hoped …” Tony looked up, half expecting to see Millie arrive with a cup of soothing valerian tea, “… but it should be fine. The insurance company have said they will withhold some of our claim until the case is over. But a few months and the project will be under way.”

“I understand that your uncle was shot during a gunfight as he was being rescued?”

“That’s what we were told. As I said, I didn’t ask him for any details. By the time I got back, he was very unwell.”

Tony looked at the file again, “He was shot in the leg.”

“Yes.”

“And he died from that? I mean, I know it’s painful to be shot anywhere – and believe me, I know … but it seems odd that he died from being shot in the leg.”

“He was unlucky … or rather, he was lucky in some ways – just not lucky enough.”

“You’ll have to explain that one.”

“The gunshot wound was, as I understand, relatively minor and he could have expected, under normal circumstances, to make a full recovery …”

“I’m guessing that the circumstances weren’t normal?”

“No, they weren’t. Uncle Philip never went to the doctor, he would _tough_ out any illness but, in this case, he had no choice. And when the doctors examined him, they discovered that he had a previously undiagnosed and unsuspected heart condition that required immediate surgery. The surgery did not go well, and he was very ill afterwards … slipped into a coma and then he died after a few weeks.”

“And by the time you arrived …”

“My understanding is that he was well enough the first few days after the shooting. He was kept in hospital while awaiting the surgery. It was after the surgery that he went downhill. I arrived the day before he had his operation … and, as I indicated before, I didn’t feel it appropriate to talk to him about the shooting the day before he had major surgery.”

“I see. And there’s nothing you can think of that could be relevant?”

“No.”

“What happened to the security firm?”

“It got sold. Preston and I had grown up around the hotel, so we had kind of a soft spot for it, but the security firm was my uncle’s baby. I think he only set it up to try to make some money to buoy up the hotel.”

“The hotel was struggling?”

“My grandfather was a little … set in his ways. Modernisation was needed, a new approach … it wasn’t meeting its full potential.”

“And now it is?”

“It’s been challenging but we’ve brought the Metropolitan Hotel into the 21st century and we have big plans for it.”

“But not for the security firm?”

“No, we couldn’t take on both and, as I said, the hotel was our priority.”

“So, you must really be hoping that the court case about the Legionnaires’ Disease goes as you hope?”

“Yes.”

“Jonathan Wilshaw has a lawyer now. Did you know?”

Something flickered once more in Moss’s eyes, “I heard something about that.”

“From your brother Preston?”

“Possibly.”

“And you’re not worried?”

“Why should I be worried?”

“I don’t know, a good lawyer might be able to put things in a different light,” suggested Tony, “A sympathetic jury … who knows what might happen?”

Moss swallowed, “The lad deserves to get a fair trial. A good lawyer might help him get one. Now, Lieutenant, is that all you need from me?”

“Yes, thank you, Mr Moss …”

“Oh, it’s me who should be thanking you …”

“Excuse me?”

“You introduced me to Mrs Lacey _and_ to Mr Gibbs. I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to meet people who share one’s passions.”

“OK, whatever …”

Moss nodded briskly and went to take another seat overlooking the ocean. Tony watched him and tried to analyse what those odd expressions on his face might have meant. A few minutes later, Moss left – presumably to meet Gibbs and discuss restoration projects and various types of carving. Tony’s thoughts were interrupted by his cell ringing,

“McGoo, how did you get on with your Moss?”

“ _Dr_ Moss, you mean.”

“Excuse me?”

“Preston Moss is most definitely _Dr_ Moss. I asked for _Mr_ Moss and the receptionist put me right.”

“Huh.”

“Anyway, Preston Moss didn’t have anything helpful to offer. He wasn’t here at the time and says that by the time he got back, his uncle was very ill and there was little time to talk. He stayed around to support his mother.”

“Hmm … anything else?”

“Not really, he brought up the subject of Jonnie Wilshaw and said again how brilliant he was.”

“Did you believe him?”

“About what?”

“About everything … anything …”

“Well, that’s clear …”

“Tim!”

“I think so … but there was something … “

“What?”

“I don’t know … I think he was on the defensive about teaching at a Community College rather than at Princeton and that might have coloured everything he said. He was wary … might not have helped that he knew I’d been at MIT …”

“Do you buy his reason for leaving Princeton? You know, coming back to be with his Mom? Shoring up the family business?”

“It sounded reasonable but …”

“But what?”

“But I guess I worked too long for a Boss who relied on his gut …”

“Ditto. Send me a copy of your notes, will you? And then …”

“Hey, you’re meant to be on reduced hours you know …”

“I …”

“And you’re not in charge – we’re liaising …”

“OK, McCranky. I’d be most grateful if you would consider sharing your notes of the meeting with Mr, sorry _Dr_ Moss and I will, of course, share mine from the meeting with Philip Moss – in the interests of co-operation.”

“Better, much better,” approved Tim.

“And Tim ... “

“Yes?”

“Do a background check on Preston Moss. Find out if there was any other reason he might have wanted to leave Princeton,” said Tony sharply.

“On it,” said Tim automatically but before he could backtrack on his instinctive following of Tony’s order, he realised that the call had been terminated.

In Milsom Bay, Tony smiled smugly but then frowned as he tried to untangle his thoughts.


	7. Chapter 7

Tony walked back thoughtfully to his cabin, still trying to decide what he thought about the fussy Philip Moss. He stiffened his back and summoned what he hoped was an alert expression when he saw Ducky walking towards him.

“Ducky. Beautiful day, isn’t it?” he offered cheerfully.

Ducky’s eyes narrowed as they scanned Tony for signs of illness or debility, “Yes,” he agreed, “A beautiful day for taking the air and _resting_.”

Tony nodded virtuously but realised that he needed a favour from the doctor which might indicate he hadn’t been resting, “Uh, Ducky. Could I ask you a medical question?”

“Of course, dear boy! You know it is always a pleasure to be of assistance. Have you been experiencing a symptom for the first time … you can tell me. You know, I have made a somewhat exhaustive study of Legionnaires’ Disease and have made myself cognizant of its many and, I may say, varied causes and side-effects. In fact, with all due modesty, I would have to say that it is unlikely that you could apply to anyone more up to date with the latest research on that dread disease in the whole of North Carolina. I suppose that Professor …”

“It’s not about me, Ducky,” interjected Tony before he could get a list of all the medical personnel on the East coast.”

“Is it young Tali? I saw her a little while ago and she seemed in perfect health … growing fast and very bonny. Bonny was a word most favoured by my dear grandmother in Scotland although, of course, she did not apply it to me. Even in these days of equality I would say that _bonny_ is not something which would be used to describe a male and, in those days when equality was less thought of, it certainly would not have been used of a boy. Although, I have to confess, that in my early years I was the proud possessor of an abundance of golden curls and I often wore the kilt so I might have been mistaken for a bonny _girl._ But, Anthony, why are you interested in what I looked like as a lad?”

“I’m not.”

“Really? Then why did you steer the conversation in that direction?”

“I didn’t.”

“You didn’t?”

“No.”

“Oh,” Ducky paused and seemed to replay the conversation in his mind, “No, indeed you didn’t. I apologise. You have some medical worry which you wish to share with me … no doubt, it is difficult for you to pluck up courage to address this issue and I have prevented you from doing so by getting distracted.”

“I’m not worried.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Ducky bracingly, “I have known far too many people who have worried themselves almost into an early grave by undue anxiety about a perplexing symptom. Although,” he went on pensively, “I have known equally sad cases where people have ignored a symptom and … well …” he sighed expressively, “But I am glad that you have decided to ally yourself with those who turn to face potential bad news.”

“Ducky!”

“Ah, am I to assume that irritation is one of the symptoms which is troubling you, Anthony? I would hasten to reassure you that some _restlessness_ of spirit and impatience is only to be expected during the recovery period of such a severe illness as you have experienced. I do not normally condone the use of _alternative_ medicines, but I would suggest asking Mrs Lacey to make you some of her valerian tea. I myself have found it very efficacious on those rare occasions when I am suffering from irritation of spirit.” Ducky paused and beamed at Tony who suspected that he was being teased … and possibly punished for something.

Tony swallowed any hasty response, “I’m feeling fine, Ducky. And Tali is fine. The medical question is something showing up in a cold case I’ve been looking at.”

The twinkle in Ducky’s eye faded and he looked sorrowful, “You’ve been looking at a cold case? You’ve been working, Anthony?”

“Light duties … and half days,” said Tony, “You said that would be OK. And I’ve just come back from Millie’s.” He crossed his fingers that Ducky wouldn’t find out what he had done at the café.

“Very well,” said Ducky graciously, “I am at your disposal.”

Tony signalled for Ducky to precede him on to the patio area of his cabin where they sat down.

“Ducky, would you take a look at this medical report … tell me what you think.”

Ducky took the file and read it through once before going back and looking at photographs, “I would say that the bullet wound to the leg was inflicted relatively shortly before the photograph was taken,” he said at last.

“That’s what I thought,” said Tony, “But,” he added hastily, “I wanted to get a professional opinion.”

“Always advisable in medical matters,” said Ducky magisterially.

Tony nodded humbly. “According to the police interviews at the time, Philip Holby was taken hostage by the raiders. He didn’t immediately co-operate when he was ordered to open up and he was shot and then taken away. The police found him abandoned on the roadside about six hours later.”

“Then something is awry,” said Ducky firmly, “That wound to the leg was not received six hours before the pictures were taken.”

“I suppose he might have been mistaken about the timing,” said Tony dubiously.

“Do you really think that the gentleman would have forgotten how long it was since he’d been shot?”

“No, not really,” said Tony, “But why lie about it?”

“Was he able to describe his attackers?”

“No, said they wore masks and gloves throughout. And the other security guard confirms that the attackers had their faces covered when they ambushed the truck.”

“What happened to the other security guard?”

“He was tied up and left.”

“You think that this Mr Holby was involved in some way?”

“Tim sent me a copy of the notes he took when he and Colin spoke to Preston Moss – who is Philp Holby’s nephew. He said that by the time he got here from Princeton his uncle was already very ill.”

“From this wound?” asked Ducky sceptically, “Admittedly it was probably a most traumatic experience but hardly life threatening.”

“No, not from the wound. When the doctors examined him in hospital, they discovered he had this heart condition that needed surgery. It was that which killed him.”

“I see … and I would point out that this is another reason why people should take care to have annual health checks so that such conditions do not go undetected. An ounce of prevention is worth …”

“A pound of cure,” completed Tony.

“I am most gratified that you believe so,” said Ducky, “And I hope you remember those wise words.”

Tony found his eyes almost crossing as he tried to follow Ducky’s thoughts, “Anyways, I spoke to Philip Moss this morning … he was at the café,” he added hastily. Ducky didn’t challenge or criticise Tony for working – he was now too caught up in the case. “And Philip Moss said that he himself didn’t get here for some days because he’d been on vacation in Baffin Island …”

This time Ducky did interrupt, “How fascinating … it is somewhere I have always wished to visit. I nearly got there once but unfortunately my vacation plans were disrupted by an outbreak of Dengue fever in Madagascar …”

Tony decided to ignore this, “It took him a while to get back and he said that by the time he arrived, it was the day before the operation.”

“And?”

“And he said that his brother had got to Raleigh almost immediately. And that their uncle was kept in hospital because of the upcoming surgery but that, at that time, he was not particularly unwell.”

“And that does not agree with Mr Preston Moss’s account …”

“Doctor Preston,” corrected Tony.

“Excuse me?”

“Huh,” said Tony, “Gibbs said that Wilshaw told him that _Mr_ Preston had arranged for a lawyer for him …”

“Yes?”

“And Gibbs and I broke one of The Rules … Rule 8, never assume. We _assumed_ he meant Preston Moss. Seemed reasonable that a caring teacher might do that for one of his students.”

“And?”

“McGee said that when they went to Wilshaw’s college and asked for _Mr_ Moss, they were told it was _Doctor_.”

“And you think that means that he did not arrange for the lad to have legal representation?”

“I do. Wilshaw worked at the hotel for a while. He’d have called Philip Moss, _Mr_ Moss … and if he’d been referring to Preston, he would have said Dr Moss.”

“So, Philip Moss has arranged legal counsel for the young man who almost destroyed the reputation of his hotel?”

“He said he deserved a fair trial. And there was something odd when he was talking about the lawyer.”

“In what way odd?”

“Don’t know. Can’t figure it out.”

“It is possible, of course, that at this distance of time, that the brothers’ accounts could have discrepancies,” said Ducky fairly.

“Yes. And looking at McGee’s notes, it seems that Preston claims to have been pretty much distraught over everything.”

“Understandable.”

“I remember … Preston said he thought Wilshaw had a brilliant mind while Philip said his _understanding is superficial_.”

“Dr Moss might be more reliable,” said Ducky, “He is, I understand, one of Wilshaw’s teachers.”

“Philip was his employer … his opinion has weight too,” countered Tony.

“It does seem that the brothers do not, what is the expression – _sing from the same hymn sheet_?”

“They seem to get on all right though,” said Tony remembering when he had met them both at the café.

“Does any of it matter?” asked Ducky.

“P’raps not. I wonder how much they really do trust one another though.”

“Hardly a crime,” Ducky pointed out.

“True, if not trusting a family member was a crime, I’d be doing time right now!”

“Now, now, Anthony, I thought you were getting on better with your father!”

“Yeah, yeah. Ignore me, Ducky.”

“Ignoring you is rarely an option, my boy,” said Ducky drily, “Why I remember …”

Tony’s cell rang at that moment and he held up a finger to ask Ducky to wait while he answered it,

“Hey, McGoo! What you doing?”

“Colin and I are on our way to Charlotte – to interview Patrick Wilthaw about the 2014 assault on the Petty Officer …”

“Check if he’s changed his name.”

“You still think it’s connected to Jonathan Wilshaw?”

“Not really but might be worth checking.”

“Will do. And, oh, Colin called the National Register of Historic Places …”

“Why?”

“Thought it might be a good idea,” came Detective Hardman’s slightly cool voice. Tony realised that Tim must have put his cell on speaker.

“Good thought … I guess,” said Tony, “What did they say? And what did they say it about?”

“Colin remembered that the plan for the Metropolitan Hotel … or at least, the old part, came up years ago – soon after the previous owner died.”

“So?” asked Tony.

“So, I wondered why it had taken so long to get approval. So, I called and asked the Register if they knew of any problem.”

“And was there?”

“Frequent protests as it turned out but all anonymous so they couldn’t respond.”

“Did they do anything with them?”

“Normally they’d want them to be submitted with a name, but they made an exception because these all seemed to be well informed … well informed but, in the end, unfounded. Seems that Philip Moss really wants to do a good job and respect what’s already there. They gave approval a few months back.”

“Huh,” said Tony, “Wonder why the complaints were anonymous.”

“Well,” said Colin, “Philip Moss is fussy … and driven. I mean, look at how he came to see you …”

“I guess. And yeah, I can see the merits of not getting on his radar. Well, OK thanks.”

“And I’ve been talking to some people I know at Princeton,” said Tim.

“Ah! About _Dr_ Moss?”

“Yeah, they were very cautious … didn’t want to commit …”

“But?” prompted Tony.

“But Preston Moss was in charge of his first research project. And it was going really well – really, really well …”

“And that’s bad? Because …”

“One of his lab assistants made a complaint to the professor in charge of the department. Said she thought that Moss might be massaging some of the results …”

“Which was why the research was going really, really well?” suggested Tony.

“Got it in one. The prof began an investigation – and it might not have been anything sinister – might just have been overenthusiasm …”

“What happened?”

“Moss got the call about his uncle. Left to go and see what was going on and never went back – resigned, saying his family needed him.”

“What happened about the investigation?”

“Nothing. The university hired a new research leader and they started from scratch, discarded the work that had already been done.”

“And would they rehire him if he applied for another position?” asked Tony shrewdly.

“Um, it seems _most unlikely_ according to my source. And that’s putting it more politely than my source did.”

“Hmm, interesting … although like everything else, it might be nothing.”

“That’s either very profound or completely meaningless,” observed Tim.

“As is so much in life,” sighed Tony, “OK, thanks Tim.”

“Oh,” continued Tim, “I phoned Dr Moss – just wanted to check when he got to Raleigh from Princeton, but he wasn’t at the College. So, I’ll try later.”

“Did anyone know where he was?” asked Tony absently.

“Said he’d gone to the hotel. The receptionist says he goes there a lot.”

“OK. Well, happy hunting in Charlotte. Be nice to solve _one_ of our cold cases.”

“See you later.”

“Problem?” asked Ducky courteously when Tony had finished the call.

“No … just more mystery around Preston Moss. And my _gut_ … oh, it’s not hurting or anything,” Tony added hastily, “It’s more …”

“Case related,” said Ducky wisely.

Tony shook his head as if to rattle his thoughts into place, “I need a break,” he announced, “Have you seen Mac?”

“I believe he went with Jethro … to visit the mysterious fireplace Philip Moss was talking about.”

“Mac went with Gibbs?” asked Tony in surprise.

“Why yes. He was telling me that his grandfather was a master carpenter and that he has an interest in timber.”

“Oh yeah, I remember something about that,” said Tony, “Er, what did he do with Tali?” The playscheme had only run for the morning that day so Tony had been expecting that Mac would be looking after Tali.

“She wanted to go with them … why, Anthony – whatever is the matter?” asked Ducky in alarm as he saw Tony go pale.

“And did she go?”

“I don’t know. We were all in John’s cabin when she began her pleading. I left before there was a resolution.”

“Excuse me, Ducky,” said Tony as he ran towards John Sutherland’s nearby cabin. He wasn’t sure why he was alarmed but the prospect of Tali being at the hotel at the same time as the Mosses was, for some reason, frightening. “Damn gut,” he muttered as he ran.

“John!” he called as he got to the door, “Have you seen …” he trailed off as he saw Sutherland sitting with Tali in front of a little easel he had set up for her.

“Dada! I’s painting! Like John …” said Tali proudly.

“John doesn’t get as much paint on him as you do, sweetheart,” said Tony ruefully as he bent to kiss her curly head. He resisted the urge to sweep her up into a hug – he knew she wouldn’t appreciate being interrupted in the middle of her task. “And it’s _I’m_ painting … not I’s painting.”

“You’re not painting,” said a puzzled Tali, “I’s painting.”

Tony sighed and decided to postpone a grammar lesson to another time and, besides, with Ducky usually in close proximity there was little danger of his daughter growing up speaking sloppily. “Ducky thought Mac might have taken Tali to the hotel,” he said to John.

John smiled and moved to pull a paint strewn finger out of Tali’s mouth, “You’re meant to put the paint on the paper, not in your mouth,” he gently chided, “Don’t worry,” he said before Tony could begin to worry, “It’s special kiddies’ paint, non-toxic. But it’s good to learn good habits from an early age.”

Tony smiled as he thought about all the good examples Tali was getting from the adults around her.

“Mac wasn’t keen on taking Tali with him without you knowing,” John continued, “And I don’t mind giving her some lessons.”

“Thanks, John. Appreciate it.” Tony patted Tali’s head again as if to reassure himself that she was really there.”

“No problem, you know that. Is everything OK?”

“Yeah, sure. I think I’ll go join them at the hotel,” said Tony casually.

“Me come too?” asked Tali.

“No, not this time, pumpkin. You stay here and finish your painting of …” Tony ground to a halt. He was a much better father than he had ever expected to be, but he was still not very good at identifying the subject of his daughter’s artworks.

“It’s a picture of the sea,” said John helpfully.

Tony looked again, “Hey, that’s really good,” he said as he decided he could identify waves and, possibly, fish. “ _If the sea was purple,_ he muttered to himself.

“Tali likes purple,” said John, the renowned seascape artist, serenely.

“I’ll see you later,” Tony told Tali, “Be good for John, won’t you.”

“I’s always good,” said Tali firmly. She thought for a moment and then honesty compelled her to continue, “Except when I’s not.”

Tony kissed her once again and made his departure. He decided to listen to his gut and get to the hotel. Somehow, the Mosses, a Gibbs who no longer carried a gun plus Mac didn’t seem a good combination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason for Gibbs no longer carrying a gun is hinted at in the previous story in this collection - 'Friends Reunited in Milsom Bay'.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some answers at last and – be warned, a cliff hanger!

Gibbs congratulated himself on suggesting that Mac come with him and Philip Moss to visit the old barn and farmhouse which stood in the grounds of the Metropolitan Hotel. He had remembered that Mac’s grandfather had been a master carpenter and had overheard him talking about a visit he had made to Papua New Guinea while nannying in Australia.

Mac had been playing with Tali outside the DiNozzo cabin when Gibbs saw Philip Moss approaching,

“Hey, Mac,” he said loudly as Moss drew near … Mac and Tali both looked up in something like shock: it was rare for Gibbs to raise his voice around them and, Mac had to admit, rare for Gibbs to talk to Mac at all.

“Yes?” he answered.

“Did I hear you say something about a visit to Papua New Guinea?”

“Er … yes, that’s right. The family I was working for took a vacation there.”

“I hear they’re famous for their woodcarving,” said Gibbs, dropping the volume slightly as he saw that Moss’s attention had been caught.

“That’s right. We went to some museums … and we saw some modern-day carvers at work,” replied Mac.

“You’ve been to Papua New Guinea? How wonderful!” exclaimed Moss, “What was it like?”

Gibbs relaxed and allowed the two to introduce themselves. It was one of Mac’s talents that he could mix easily with anyone – a gift that came in handy in his line of work which entailed living with and working for a variety of people. In this case, he had the added advantage of being genuinely interested in carving and he and Moss were soon engaged in a lively conversation.

Gibbs let them talk for a few minutes and then interrupted,

“We should be on our way … if we want to miss the traffic.”

“Of course,” said Moss, “Well, perhaps we could continue this conversation some other time, Frazer?”

“Although,” said Gibbs as if the thought was just occurring to him, “Perhaps Mac would be interested in your project?”

Mac nodded eagerly and the upshot was that Tali was deposited with John Sutherland and he joined the expedition. Gibbs sat in the back of the car and let Mac and Moss continue their discussion while he watched the scenery fly past.

XXXXXX

“Huh,” said Philip as he stopped the car in front of the house, “Preston is here,” he smiled fondly, “My brother is very interested in the project. He comes here as often as he can, taking photos and learning about the building. He doesn’t like to be disturbed though, so we might not see him.”

Gibbs nodded; he had no problem with missing an opportunity for yet more socialising. Philip led them first into the barn and Gibbs found himself lost in wonder at its scale and beauty.

“We think it was built originally by a Quaker family,” said Philip in a hushed voice which suggested that he had not become immune to the charms of the place, “It got sold later and probably expanded and enlarged but they kept the bones of the place.”

“It shows,” said Gibbs.

Philip let them stay for a while appreciating the space and then led them into the adjoining farmhouse.

“Hope you’ve got a good architect,” said Gibbs gruffly, “It’ll take skill to convert this place and not lose its …” he trailed off as he tried to find the words to sum up the atmosphere of the barn.

“We have, don’t worry,” said Philip, “I’ll show you the plans sometime. Here’s the farmhouse …” He flung open the door, “We’ll have smaller meeting rooms here. A few study bedrooms …”

Mac and Gibbs gazed around the large reception room and saw the doors leading off to other rooms. The farmhouse was also stylishly simple and elegant but lacked the impact of the barn.

“That the fireplace you want restoring?” asked Gibbs, pointing to the huge fire surround.

Philip nodded and they all drew nearer to inspect it.

“It’s beautiful,” said Mac as he drew a reverent finger over the carving.

Gibbs peered at it more closely, “Looks good,” he commented, “A good coat of beeswax would bring it up … might be some areas which need replacing but overall …”

Silence fell over the three as they allowed the atmosphere sink in. Gibbs began to think that there must be something all right about a person who cared for his ancestry so passionately.

After a few minutes, Philip stirred, “The kitchen is worth looking at too … we’re thinking of preserving it as a heritage feature. Come and see.”

Gibbs tore himself away from the fireplace a little reluctantly; a heritage kitchen didn’t seem too appealing to him. Philip stopped abruptly in the doorway; Mac and Gibbs narrowly avoided barrelling into him,

“Preston! What are you doing?”

Gibbs looked over Philip’s shoulder and saw Preston Moss attacking the wooden floor with a heavy-duty pry bar.

Preston looked up: Gibbs could see him making some mental calculation about whether he could talk himself out of this compromising position … and he saw the moment when he decided he wouldn’t. Gibbs tensed, ready for action.

“You’ll ruin the floor!” shouted Philip who was so outraged at the potential damage that he hadn’t looked too closely at his brother.

Preston rose to his feet but didn’t let go of the pry bar,

“It’ll be fine,” he said impatiently. If Tony had been there, he would probably have spotted that Preston was much less genial towards his brother than he had been at Millie’s café.

“No, it won’t,” said Philip agitatedly, “Those beams are over 100 years old. They need to be respected.”

Gibbs put a calming hand on Philip’s shoulder; he had no idea what was going on but the peaceful atmosphere of a few moments ago had disappeared completely.

Preston dropped the pry bar causing Philip to wince at the potential damage to the flooring; a moment later he had drawn a gun.

“Preston?” What are you doing?” asked Philip in a different tone although Gibbs noted that it wasn’t an entirely surprised tone.

“I’ve run out of time,” announced Preston.

“What do you mean?” asked his brother.

“You know. You must know.”

“What do you think I know?”

“Don’t be stupid, Phil. Or have you already found it?”

“Found what?”

“Uncle Philip must have told you … I wondered if you’d share it with me, but you didn’t.”

“What must he have told me? I don’t understand.”

“Don’t play the idiot. He always preferred you to me and you spoke to him at the hospital …”

“Of course I spoke to him, he was worried about the operation. I tried to reassure him.”

“What do you think your uncle told your brother?” asked Gibbs, deciding it was time to take part in the conversation.

“Who are you?” asked Preston.

“This is Gibbs,” said Philip, “I told you about him. He’s going to help restore the fireplace. And this is Frazer, he works for Lieutenant DiNozzo.”

“You’re a cop?” asked Preston.

“No,” said Mac, “I’m his daughter’s nanny.”

Preston was clearly puzzled. Part of him wanted to dismiss Mac because he was a nanny and the other part saw his tall, athletic body which was not so easily dismissed. “Well, this is none of your business. So stay out of it.”

“And what is the business?” asked Gibbs mildly.

“None of your business either, old man!”

Gibbs shrugged, “Reckon I’ve made older bones than you will … if you carry on like this, anyway.”

Preston scowled but didn’t reply, preferring to wave his weapon menacingly before turning to his brother,

“Phil, tell me what you know. We can share it. You can use your share to do up this godforsaken place!”

Philip gasped, not sure whether he was more shocked by Preston having a gun or dissing the farmhouse. Gibbs tried gently to nudge Philip, hoping he would take the hint and play along with his brother.

“What do you think I know?” Philip asked more calmly. “Tell me and we can work something out.”

Preston’s eyes narrowed as he tried to weigh up what his brother’s intentions were before making a decision,

“The raid on the truck …”

“The one Uncle Philip was injured in?”

“How many do you think there were? Yes, of course that one. Our dear uncle organised it.”

“But he was shot!” protested Philip.

“It was planned. Shots were fired so that the other guard would think he’d been hit when he refused to do what he was told but they did it later.”

“What?”

“Uncle Phil was in on it. He pretended to resist, pretended to be taken hostage but he went with the others to stash his share of the money. Then, just before the police arrived, he was shot in the leg, so he’d really look like a victim.”

“What happened to the others?” asked Gibbs.

Preston looked at him with dislike but decided to answer, “They were given their share and split. Our uncle kept most of the money and he hid it … somewhere.”

“And he told you all this?” asked Philip faintly.

“Only because you were so long coming back from whatever weird place you’d gone on vacation,” replied Preston bitterly, “In the end he couldn’t risk nobody knowing so he told me …”

“But he didn’t tell you exactly where he’d put the cash?” said Gibbs.

“We kept getting interrupted by the damn doctors and nurses fussing around. And Mom and Granddad were there most of the time. He told me it was somewhere in the old buildings … I figured, when you got there … and had that long private conversation … that he told you.”

“He didn’t tell me anything. We talked about the operation. He thought he was going to be fine. Maybe that’s why he didn’t tell me.”

Gibbs wondered if his uncle had decided that his older nephew might be too law-abiding to be trusted with such information, but he didn’t express that thought out loud.

“You sure?” demanded Preston.

“I swear.”

“Huh, so all this time when I thought you must be holding out on me … you weren’t?”

“You’re my brother. Why would I do that?”

“Oh, grow up, Phil. A million dollars, that’s why!”

“Why the hurry?” interjected Gibbs, “You said you were running out of time. How so?”

“Once the restoration work starts … who knows, someone might find where Uncle stashed it. And Mom got a letter from the cold case unit at Raleigh PD – a courtesy notification that they’d be looking into Uncle Philip’s death again, reopening a cold case or something.”

“And you were worried they might figure something out?” said Gibbs.

“Couldn’t risk it. Then Phil told me that some people from the police were coming for a wedding – he was pleased, it was good for business. I saw the guest list, saw DiNozzo’s name, knew he was on the cold case team …”

“So?” asked Philip who was apparently still in a state of shock.

“I remembered, when he was appointed – there was an article about him having had the plague. Well, I used to be an epidemiologist … I figured his lungs were compromised …”

“So, you suggested to Jonnie Wilshaw that he play around with Legionnaires’ Disease?” said Gibbs.

“Win win situation. If DiNozzo got infected, that would delay the investigation – win! Even if he didn’t get infected, I’d have made sure the bacteria was discovered – the banks would take fright about the loan and that would delay the project starting – win!”

“I guess you were lucky that Wilshaw succeeded,” said Gibbs casually.

Preston laughed, “Luck? That kid would struggle to boil an egg! He couldn’t do it, of course he couldn’t. I ‘checked’ his work and planted the bacteria.”

“But Lieutenant DiNozzo could have died!” gasped Philip.

Preston shrugged, “Either way, it would’ve worked for me.”

“So, that’s the reason you’re running out of time? ‘cos the project is starting soon?” asked Gibbs.

“Well, it’s pretty boring having to be stuck here. And teaching at that second-rate college! Me! I was at Princeton, a real highflyer …”

“Until you were suspended,” said Phil softly.

Surprise showed on Preston’s face, “You knew? You never said.”

“Your professor told me, as an act of kindness. I didn’t want to believe it …”

“But you did,” prompted Gibbs.

Philip sighed, “Preston always likes to do things quickly, take shortcuts. But then it didn’t matter because he quit and came back home.”

“And you came too. Why?” asked Mac entering the conversation for the first time.

“Because you didn’t trust what your baby brother would get up to,” Gibbs answered for him.

Philip shrugged but didn’t answer.

“But I could’ve been patient,” protested Preston, “I’d have found a way to stop the work … I’ve been doing it for years already.”

“What?” asked Philip, “You mean …”

“All those anonymous objections? Yep, that was me, big brother.”

“So, why now?” asked Gibbs.

Preston laughed bitterly, “I finally looked at the old records of the security firm. Checked to see what cash was being transported.”

“So?” asked Mac, “You said it was a million dollars.”

“It was. But half of it was in foreign currencies. The aircraft carrier it was destined for was deployed to the North Atlantic.”

“So local currency was needed for shore leave,” said Gibbs, “So what?”

“At least 150 grand was in UK bank notes …”

“Yes?” asked Gibbs, feeling it was like getting a quick response from Abby.

“They’re redoing their bank notes. There’s 50 grand each in £5, £10- and £20-pound notes. The old £5 went out of circulation in 2017, the £10 in 2018 and there’s going to be a new £20 note in 2020.”

“The old notes are still valid,” said Mac helpfully, “You can exchange them at a bank.”

“Don’t think that’s so easy when you’re talking in tens of thousands,” said Gibbs kindly, “Pretty sure you have to do some paperwork … and it might take some explaining.”

“That’s right,” said Preston, “I can still offload the out of date stuff, but I’ll take a hit. I want to find the money before I miss out on the £20 notes next year.”

“How fiscally prudent of you,” said Philip sadly, “Makes me glad that I paid for a lawyer.”

“What? What are you talking about?” demanded Preston.

“Jonathan Wilshaw. I engaged a lawyer for him. I guess, at the back of my mind, I thought you might have something to do with him infecting the hotel. I know how good you are at _influencing_ people to do what you want them to.”

“Enough!” said Preston, “Turns out this works for me after all. Phil, you’re going to tell me where Uncle Philip stashed the money or these two _friends_ of yours are going to come to a sticky end.”

“But I told you, I don’t know,” protested Philip.

“He might not have told you,” conceded Preston, “But I figure you could work it out. You were both in love with this place – he told me that’s why he arranged the raid … and one the year before … just so he’d have enough money to do it up.”

Gibbs sensed that Philip would refuse, “Do it, Moss,” he ordered, “We don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

Philip hesitated but then said, “I guess I could think of some places he might have hidden stuff. We can look …”

“Thank you,” said Preston sarcastically, “And I think our two guests would be best off locked in the storeroom …” he gestured to them to move.

XXXXXX

Tony felt a sense of exhilaration as he drove towards Raleigh. He loved Milsom Bay, but he was happy to be escaping for a little while after his enforced confinement there. He wondered if it was the wish to be on the move once more which had triggered his gut feeling rather than something about the case. Tony shook his head as he decided that it was the case which was driving him. There was a lot which didn’t add up about the Moss brothers and some straight talking with them was required. He was beginning to wonder whether Philip Holby had been involved in some way with the attack on the van – the wounded leg seemed suspicious to him and would have been a good way to divert attention from him.

And then it seemed that Preston Moss had been with his uncle for some time before his brother had arrived. It seemed odd that Preston had claimed that his uncle had been very ill at the time when that account was contradicted by his brother who said that Holby was lucid and coherent until just before the operation. Could it be, Tony wondered, that the uncle had shared information about the raid with one or both of his nephews and they had hung around in Raleigh afterwards trying to locate the cash?

As these pieces began to fall into place, Tony decided that the suspicions against the brothers were well founded rather than being fanciful: with that in mind, when he was half an hour out from the hotel, he called Tim and asked him to join him at there with Colin. It would take them another hour or so to get there, but backup suddenly seemed a good idea.

Tony drew up in front of the hotel rather than the barn, deciding he’d rather his arrival was a surprise. As he approached the old buildings, he heard a loud thud and a groan. He took out his cell and called Tim and Colin to let them know and asked them to call for backup from Raleigh PD before taking his gun out of its holster and slipping quietly up to the door of the barn.


	9. Chapter 9

Tony peered through a window in the barn and saw Preston smashing a prybar against the wall with a loud thud. Philip Moss groaned and Tony guessed it wasn’t the first time Preston had wielded the iron bar.

“Tell me!” he heard Preston shout, “Or I’ll tear the damn place apart piece by rotting piece!”

Philip shook his head and muttered something that Tony couldn’t hear. Tony frowned; ideally, he would wait until backup arrived, but he feared that Preston had cast aside his genial persona and was likely to use the prybar on his brother next. He sighed, holstered his gun and pushed the door open,

“Mac!” he shouted, “Where the hell are you?” As he strode into the barn, he looked with surprise at the two brothers, “Mr Moss! I know it might not be your fault, but I’d be grateful if you’d stop distracting my employee!”

Philip looked shocked, “Lieutenant DiNozzo! What are you doing here? I-I’m afraid it’s not a good moment … perhaps we could discuss this at some other time. My brother and I are …” he ground to a halt, not quite knowing how to describe what he and his brother were doing.

“I just want to know where MacKenzie is,” said Tony coldly, “He was meant to be looking after my daughter – which is what I pay him for – and I find that he abandoned her to someone else in favour of coming to see this … barn!” Tony let a contemptuous tone creep into his voice as he looked around disdainfully.

“I-! …” began Philip.

“I think,” said Preston smoothly, “That your nanny went back to Milsom Bay with your friend. I fear you’ve had a wasted journey.”

“Oh,” said Tony, “Well, I hope if he shows up here again, you’ll remind him that he does what I tell him.”

“Of course,” said Philip, “I’ll make sure of it.”

“If you don’t mind,” said Preston, “Phil and I have got a lot to do …”

Tony didn’t take the hint, “While I’m here, perhaps we could discuss the possibility of coming to a settlement. You know, out of court?”

“Excuse me?” said Philip.

“I’ve been talking to my lawyer … about a claim against the hotel. She says I have an excellent case, but it might be in everyone’s interests to reach a settlement without going to court.”

“What?”

“She thinks, if we go to court, I could expect to receive around $5 million …” Tony paused as Philip gasped, “… but, if I was ready to settle beforehand, a reasonable sum would be about $2 to $3 million. I don’t want to go to court but I would if necessary.”

“That … I … we …” spluttered Philip.

“Lieutenant DiNozzo,” said Preston, “I don’t think we should continue this discussion without our lawyers present. I think it’s best that you go now.”

Tony nodded reluctantly and turned to go, “Hey, you doing some renovation work?” he pointed to some smashed timbers, “That’s odd, I thought you said you were getting skilled contractors in.”

Preston smiled thinly, “I thought I could help out, but my brother shares your opinion of my expertise … and I think he’s right.” He gestured with the prybar.

“Really, Lieutenant DiNozzo, I think you should go,” said Philip desperately, “And your daughter may be looking for you,” he added.

“I guess,” agreed Tony, “You know, I never expected being a father to be so … hard. And rewarding, of course,” he gushed, “She really is the light of my life, you know. I don’t know where I’d be without her. Do either of you have children?”

The Mosses shook their heads mutely.

“I’d recommend it. Would you like to see some pictures …? I’ve got some from when she was eating an ice-cream the other day. If you look at them, you can see why her clothes seem to live in the washer! But she’s such a little peach, I can’t stay mad at her,” he smiled goofily and stepped a little closer.

The approach, however, was enough finally to spook Preston, “That’s close enough,” he said.

“I only wanted to show you some photos,” protested Tony.

“I don’t buy that,” said Preston. He dropped the prybar and drew his gun, “Are you armed, Lieutenant DiNozzo?”

“Yes.”

“Then, carefully, take out your gun and put it on the ground. Then kick it over here. And your cell phone too. No tricks … Phil may be my brother, but I won’t hesitate to hurt him.”

Tony slowly and carefully did what he was told, “This is crazy,” he said, “You can’t hope to get away with anything.”

Preston shrugged, “I’m already in trouble. Adding you to the mix won’t matter too much.”

“Are you looking for the money?” asked Tony as he decided to play his hunch.

Preston was beyond denials, “Yes. And Phil here is going to tell me where our uncle stashed it.”

“I told you, he didn’t tell me,” said Philip.

“And I believe you,” said Preston, “But you’re still going to tell me where it is.”

“How will he know?” asked Tony, “If Holby didn’t tell him?”

“Uncle Philip was as mad about this place as Phil. They were always here, talking about the place, looking at it. If he had a hiding place, Phil would know.”

“I don’t …” began Philip.

“… and if he doesn’t tell me, I’m going to start shooting you, Lieutenant DiNozzo. After that touching story about your daughter … well, just think how much she’d miss you. _Your precious little peach_!”

“Preston!” exclaimed Philip, “You wouldn’t!”

“Just watch,” replied Preston.

“Do what he wants, Philip,” said Tony softly, “There’s no need for anyone to be hurt.”

Philip closed his eyes briefly and then sighed as he opened them again, “Parts of the barn go back to the early 19th century. It was originally built by a Quaker family – the Berrys – they were opposed to slavery …”

“I don’t need _another_ history lesson, dammit!”

Philip ignored the interruption, “They were important in the Underground Railroad which helped runaway slaves get away … the barn was used to hide runaways.”

“There’s a hidden room?” asked Tony.

“A space. We found it by mistake. We think it had been closed up for over a century and forgotten.”

“You didn’t tell me!” protested Preston.

“You never did like history,” smiled Philip, “Even back then. It was our secret. And I always felt proud of it, the thought that people who lived here all those years ago cared so much about other people …”

“And that’s where the money is?” demanded Preston.

“I don’t know but I think if Uncle Philip had been looking for somewhere to hide something … that’s where he would have chosen.”

“Show me!”

“You’re standing on it.”

“What! You’re lying, I’d have found it.”

“No, it’s incredibly well concealed. A real master craftsman or artist must have made the false trapdoor – it’s like a trompe l'oeil – it deceives the eye.” He kicked the dust around with his feet to reveal the floor.

Preston was obviously as uninterested in craftsmanship as he was in history and didn’t pause to admire anything, “Open it,” he ordered, “Both of you! Now!”

Following Philip’s instructions, he and Tony managed to pry the trapdoor up. Preston then waved at them to stand back while he peered into the shallow space below. He used his cell phone to shine light into the darkness and he quivered with excitement as he saw cashboxes on the floor. He gestured to Philip,

“Go and get the boxes,” he ordered, “And don’t try anything. I’ll shoot our guest if you don’t do exactly what I say.”

Philip looked apologetically at Tony before lowering himself into the hole and passing up the boxes. When the last box had been removed Preston issued another order, “Now, get in, DiNozzo! And Phil, stay where you are!”

Tony hesitated. He didn’t particularly mind confined spaces, but he didn’t trust Preston Moss especially as there was an object in the corner of the barn which made him anxious. He noted that Philip didn’t seem unduly concerned about being locked up in the hole and hoped that it wasn’t just shock that was making him docile. Accordingly, he stepped into the space and crouched down as Preston let the trapdoor crash down.

“Well?” he asked Philip, “I’m guessing there’s something more about this place than you’re saying?” In the dim light, he saw Philip smile faintly,

“What makes you say that?”

“You’re pretty calm.”

“I’m hoping that you’ve got back up on the way.”

“Yes. But traffic’s bad this time of day and my car is parked at the hotel. They might not find us quickly.”

“You’re good,” said Philip admiringly.

“You gonna tell me or is it a secret?” asked Tony in exasperation.

“You’ll have to crawl …”

For a moment, Tony thought Moss meant he’d have to grovel for the information but then he saw his fellow prisoner move towards a corner of the space.

“There’s enough room for two or three men to lie down and hide,” said Philip informatively, “But it was probably too dangerous for them not to have another way out … we found a passage leading to the house. Follow me!”

So Tony crawled after Philip and was grateful that he now rarely wore a designer suit unless he was attending some sort of civic event. After a few minutes, he bumped into Philip who had stopped and who was pushing at another trapdoor, “Need a hand?” he asked.

“It’s stiff. Hasn’t been used for years,” agreed Philip.

The two men pushed together until the trapdoor flew open.

“What the …!” came a familiar voice.

“Boss?” asked Tony as he saw a face peering down at them, “Mac? You all right?”

“Until you did a magical reappearing act,” groused Gibbs, “Good thing I’m used to you shocking me!”

“Good to see you too,” said Tony drily, “Give us a hand, can’t you?” Then, as he and Philip, climbed into the storeroom into which Mac and Gibbs had been locked, he swore, “Damn! We’re locked in here too!”

Gibbs raised a quizzical eyebrow, “We can do better than that, DiNozzo!” he turned the handle on the door which opened with a slight creak, “We were just leaving when you arrived,” he explained.

“Agent Gibbs … sorry, Mr Gibbs … can pick locks,” said Mac in obvious awe, “It was cool!”

“Would have been quicker if I’d had the right tools,” said Gibbs modestly.

“How did you get here? How did you know we were here?” asked Mac.

“We didn’t know. And it’s a long story,” said Tony, “Gibbs, you up for some exercise?”

“Always.”

“Mac … Philip – you don’t mind if I call you Philip, do you? I feel as if we’ve bonded after being locked up together …” Philip nodded dazedly, “You stay here. The police will be along soon, but I don’t want to wait.”

Gibbs looked a little puzzled at Tony’s decision to go after Preston but followed his lead. By the time they got around to the barn, Tony could see that most of the cash boxes had gone, “Stay here,” he told Gibbs, “Let me just check something …” He sniffed as he walked inside and felt a wave of anger welling up. He turned back in time to see Preston aiming a blow at Gibbs’ head with the prybar. Gibbs dodged so that the blow missed his head and hit his shoulder, and he tumbled heavily to the ground.

“You’re tricky, I’ll give you that,” said Preston grudgingly as he glared at Tony, “But it’s time to finish this. Bring that cash box over here. Do it,” he added as he saw Tony hesitate, “Or I’ll shoot the old guy.”

Tony nodded and stooped to pick up the box. A second later, a shot rang out and Preston fell to the ground.

“Always carry a backup,” came Gibbs’ voice from the floor, “Can’t remember if it was a rule or not!”

Tony grinned as he looked at his back-up gun he had just taken from its ankle holster, “Some things are too obvious to be a rule! Although,” he added thoughtfully, “That didn’t always stop you! You OK?”

“No! But I will be. Help me up, will you?”

At that moment, two Raleigh PD cars swept up to the barn preceded by Det Hardman and Tim in their car.

“Why didn’t you wait?” asked McGee almost peevishly, as they approached, “You knew we were on our way.”

“Was going to,” said Tony pacifically, “But our friend here, who I think is in need of medical attention, had a nasty plan which I thought we should stop.”

“What?” asked Gibbs.

“McBloodhound, go in there. Wait!” Tim stopped from his obedient passage into the barn, “You haven’t taken up smoking, have you?”

“No, but I might do – I need something to calm my nerves after being with you again!”

“I’ll buy you a donut with sprinkles,” said Tony somewhat unsympathetically, “That’ll help with the nervous tension. But seeing as you’re unlikely to have a naked flam, go on in, and sniff!”

Tim grinned at Tony and did as he was told before scuttling back out, “Kerosene?”

“Yep. Dr Moss isn’t a big fan of historic buildings … I saw the can earlier on. I figure he was going to get rid of all the evidence – including yours truly, Gibbs, his brother and Mac. Colin, why don’t you arrest him? NCIS and Raleigh PD can sort out jurisdiction later.”

“Oh, my God! Preston!” cried Philip as he and Mac came to see what had happened. He rushed over to where his brother lay groaning on the ground, “What happened?” he asked.

“DiNozzo shot him,” said Gibbs returning automatically to his brisk reporting style.

“Why?”

“Why?” repeated Tony, “Isn’t it obvious?”

“I guess,” admitted Philip, “Is he going to be all right?”

“Probably,” shrugged Tony.

“He was going to set the barn alight,” said Gibbs, curious to see how Philip reacted.

“What! Why, Preston?”

“Join the dots, Moss,” said Tony drily.

“It doesn’t matter now,” said Philip after a momentary pause, “My brother needs medical attention.”

“There’s an ambulance on the way,” said Tim, “You need one too, Boss?”

Gibbs shuddered, “No, Ducky will fix me up. I just need a long hot bath.”

McGee chuckled nervously, “You know, Boss … about bathrooms …”

Tony watched with interest to see if Tim was about to make a confession but, before Tim could speak any more, the ambulance arrived and as Philip, Preston and Detective Hardman clambered into the ambulance, the moment was lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter I think, just to tie up loose ends.


	10. Chapter 10

“He was never good at chess.”

“Excuse me?”

Two days after the events at the hotel, Tony had gone down to Millie’s café with Tali, hoping for a quiet afternoon snack but found that Philip Moss was paying another visit. He was sitting somewhat disconsolately gazing out to sea. Tony wrestled with his better self for a moment or two and then went down to sit with Philip, trying to take comfort in his having been supplied with a cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream rather than a cup of valerian tea. Tony wondered what Millie would give _him_ and it was then that Philip spoke. After Tony’s query, Philip said,

“Preston, he was never good at chess.”

“Oh,” said Tony inadequately and then said, “Oh,” this time in a slightly disappointed voice as Millie gave him a mug of tea and a graham cracker.

“Trust me,” she said with a smile and a pat to the shoulder.

“Is that your daughter?” Philip asked Tony, he pointed to Tali who seemed to have a fit of the giggles.

“Yes, it is. Tali, say hello to Mr Moss.”

Tali giggled even more as if this was the funniest thing he had ever said to her.

“Excuse me,” said Tony to Philip as he bent down to look Tali in the face, “Now, Tali, don’t be rude. It’s not nice to laugh like that. You’ve been silly all day, so behave please.” Tali’s _silliness_ had been one of the reasons Tony had abandoned a day’s work to come down to the café.

Tali’s eyes grew big – it was unusual for Tony to have to scold her, “Sorry, Dada,” she whispered.

“That’s OK, sweetheart. Now, say hello nicely.”

“Hello,” said Tali with unusual shyness.

“Hello,” said Philip a little awkwardly.

“That’s better,” praised Tony, “Good girl.”

Tali put her fingers over her mouth and was obviously longing to giggle again. Tony sighed but at that moment, Millie came out,

“Tali, why don’t you come with me? I’ll find you something to do.”

Tony nodded gratefully and hoped that the _something_ didn’t involve anything with sugar as it seemed his daughter was already on a sugar rush of some sort. Tali took Millie’s hand and walked with her into the café; as soon as they were through the door Tony heard a gale of giggles again.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “She’s not normally like that.”

Philip waved away the apology.

“So,” said Tony, “You were saying that your brother was never good at chess?”

“He learned the moves really quickly and could think up brilliant strategies …”

“But?”

Philip smiled, “But he never remembered that he was playing against opponents who could also think. He always thought they’d do exactly as he wanted and couldn’t understand why they might avoid his traps and set ones for him!”

“And that’s important, why? Did he want to be a chess grandmaster or something?” asked a puzzled Tony.

“No, but I think it’s sort of a metaphor for his life. He always underestimated people. He underestimated _you_ for one thing.”

“Yeah?”

“When he had you surrender your gun and cell … well, I wondered if you might have another weapon as a backup but that didn’t occur to him.”

“And he underestimated _you_ ,” suggested Tony.

“How so?”

“Well, he didn’t notice that you didn’t seem all that worried about being locked in that hidden space.”

“To be fair, that’s partly because I was in shock … but no, he didn’t think that I might have a plan of my own. He was always competitive, wanted to be the best … sometimes I think he went into science because I liked it …”

“I sense another _but_.”

“But … he was always in a hurry. Science takes application and patience. If you’re doing research, you can’t force the results, you mustn’t be biased. Preston didn’t really _get_ that.”

“The ends justify the means?”

“Something like that. You know, I am truly sorry for what he did to you …”

“Did you suspect that he was behind it?” asked Tony curiously, “Gibbs said you had suspicions.”

Philip frowned, “I think _suspicion_ is too strong a word. I guess I could imagine a scenario in which Preston might find it interesting to see if he could get a student to do it. He likes mind games … he likes feeling superior. I suppose I didn’t want to examine those suspicions too closely.”

“You paid for Jonnie Wilshaw to have a lawyer …”

“Yes. I wanted to make sure he was listened to, that everything was taken into account … but I hoped that it was just a case of my brother having been an overenthusiastic teacher. What will happen to Jonathan?”

Tony shook his head, “Not sure. Sure, it seems that he didn’t actually _create_ the means of infection, but he intended to, and he admits that he planted it at the hotel. In my book, he intended to do it – does the fact that he wasn’t responsible for it working mean that he’s not guilty at all?”

“No, you’re right … he is guilty of something but surely the fact that he seems to have been manipulated into it must be some mitigation?”

“The District Attorney will make the decision,” said Tony, “But I reckon Preston might get charged with something like misconduct in public office – he abused a position of trust by the way he treated Wilshaw.”

Philip sighed, “I’ve asked for him to have a psychiatric evaluation.”

“Your brother?”

“There must be something wrong with him to have made him behave like that …”

“Hmm,” said Tony noncommittally as he took a sip of his tea.

“And I don’t believe he would have ignited the kerosene …”

Tony took a bite of his cracker to avoid having to reply.

“I wonder what we did wrong …”

“Excuse me?”

“Preston never knew our father … perhaps he was spoiled …”

“You lost your father too,” Tony pointed out.

“I guess. Preston was sort of a golden child – he had all the charm that I didn’t! People wanted to please him … maybe that was the problem. Things fell into his lap.”

“What was your uncle like?” asked Tony curiously, “You said you were close?”

“We were. We both loved the old barn and we used to explore it together, but I think, in other ways he was closer to Preston. And he could be impatient as well, wanted results …”

“Were you surprised to find out that he’d arranged the thefts?”

Philip frowned, “Yes … and no. Bit like finding out Preston was behind you being infected – it made sense once I was told. Uncle Phil was passionate about restoring the barn … guess he decided it didn’t matter where he got the money from.”

“What are you going to do now? Will the work go ahead on the barn and farmhouse?”

“The insurance company is thinking again about paying out now they knew it was someone connected to the hotel who was responsible for your illness. I’m hopeful they’ll still pay something if I can make it clear I wasn’t involved, and it looks as if the banks will go ahead with the loans.”

“Yeah? You don’t sound too sure.”

“Oh, I’m reasonably sure but I won’t be here.”

“What? I thought you were excited about the work?”

“I was … I am … but I don’t feel the same about the place after what happened there.”

“You’ll come to terms with it, it won’t always feel like that.”

“You’re probably right but I’m going to Stanford, I’m going back to research and teaching. And I’ll be near my Mom too.”

“I thought you loved the barn?”

“Oh, I do but I love biochemistry more.”

“Why did you leave in the first place then?”

“Preston was in a bad place after what happened at Princeton … and he was determined to come back home. And, of course, I understand the motivation now! But, at the time, I thought I should come back as well. And someone needed to take on the hotel and it wasn’t going to be Preston’s thing.”

“And the woodcarving? That’s a real interest?”

“Definitely, it’s always been an interest. And it’s a good distraction from my scientific research.”

“What’s going to happen to the hotel? You going to sell it?”

“No, we’re going to hire a manager. Running a hotel isn’t really my thing.”

Tony nodded, impressed at how much Philip had done in the hope of supporting his brother.

“And what about the barn?”

Philip smiled, “Well, we _hope_ that the city will take it on. We’ve offered it to them as a potential arts centre where local people can come and learn crafts and display their work.”

“Does Preston have a say in that? You said that your Mom had handed the hotel over to both of you.”

“She kept a one third interest and gave us each a one third stake. She and I agree about the future of the barn and we outvote Preston.”

“I see. And you think the city will take it?”

“I hope so. And your Mr Gibbs seems interested as well. He said he was looking for a space to do some larger scale woodwork … and I think he’d be willing to teach some classes too.”

“Huh.”

“And I hope he’ll still do some work on that fireplace. And repair some of the damage my brother caused.”

Tony took another swallow of tea and came to a decision, “You know, I don’t think you need to feel guilty about your brother. It wasn’t your fault and lots of people go through hard times, but they don’t end up turning to crime. Believe me, I spent a lot of my life bringing criminals to justice and I’ve learned that crooks aren’t always – or even usually – mentally ill or disadvantaged. Sometimes people do things because that’s the way they are … they’re impatient or dissatisfied and they want what they can’t have legally.”

“Perhaps. But he’s my brother and, whatever he’s done, I can’t abandon him.”

“I figure he’ll be in prison for a while,” said Tony, “He’s facing serious charges.”

Philip managed a smile, “Perhaps he’ll be one of those people that prison works for.”

“Maybe. Just don’t keep second guessing what you did. You have a life to lead as well, you know.”

“Thank you. And once again, I’m sorry …”

“Hey, I got to spend a month in the Bay with my daughter. It wasn’t all bad,” said Tony dismissively if inaccurately.

Philip left soon afterwards, and his place was taken by a triumphant looking Tim.

“Guess what?” he said.

Tony was a little distracted by the sound of Tali still giggling inside the café, “Don’t know … but you’re turning into Abby.”

“What?”

“The guessing games. She likes them too.”

“Oh … but this is exciting. Go on, guess.”

“It’s been scientifically proven that picking sprinkles off donuts is good for your mental health?”

“I don’t need it be scientifically proven. I already know it is.”

“Huh, perhaps Philip Moss should have tried it on his brother.”

“What?”

“Never mind, what’s exciting, McQuiver?”

“Aren’t you going to guess again?” asked Tim disappointedly.

“I don’t know … Arthur came up trumps with the tile?”

“No … but I found some old water troughs at his place which would make great planters for the yard.”

“Then why so jazzed?”

“I found a place online which will make a replacement tile to order. They might even be able to repair the chipped tile.”

“And how much is this going to cost?”

“$100. Plus the cost of getting it in place.”

“$100! For a tile!”

“Believe me, if it means I sleep at night, it’ll be worth every cent!”

Tony shrugged. Somehow, he thought he’d pay that as well, “How’s the case going? I’m surprised you’ve hung around so long.”

Tim looked momentarily shifty, “When you are as tech savvy as me, you can leave your team without undue difficulty,” he announced.

“Plus, Bishop is on vacation and your Probie is on a course at Quantico.”

“Well …”

“And Wheels is still in Dubai …”

“You’ve been speaking to Abby!”

“ _Speaking_ in the loosest possible sense … I’ve managed to get an occasional word in edgeways … and while doing so, I have _deduced_ that the squad room is empty of any MCRT members. And your house, complete with chipped tile bathroom, is also empty.”

“OK, OK, so I hung around. But I’ve carried on working on that other cold case … which I reckon is going to stay in the chiller. And Colin and I have been working out how the Navy thefts pan out.”

“The cases are solved but there’s nobody to charge,” said Tony firmly with his Raleigh PD hat on, “The assaults and imprisonments were on civilians. Nothing for NCIS to be interested in.”

“Preston Moss perverted the course of justice,” protested Tim, “He knew who carried out the robberies and didn’t tell anyone. And he tried to take the proceeds for himself.”

“Yeah, but I reckon our cases take priority. _And_ don’t forget he tried to kill me … and potentially infect a large number of Raleigh PD officers. No, admit it, McGrabbit – the case is ours.”

Tim shrugged and didn’t tell Tony that NCIS and the police department had already come to the same conclusion.

“What’s going on?” asked Tony suddenly as he heard an even louder squeal of laughter from the café. He got up to investigate but was forestalled by Gibbs’ arrival,

“Going somewhere, DiNozzo?”

“I was just going to see what Tali’s up to. I don’t know what’s got into her today.”

“My dear mother used to say that in windy weather I was always more apt to be skittish,” announced Ducky as he made his own arrival.

“In that case, we must be due a hurricane,” groused Tony, “She’s been _skittish_ all day.”

“Relax, DiNozzo, Mrs Lacey will have it under control,” said Gibbs waving him back to his seat.

“How’s the shoulder, Gibbs? You’ve taken the sling off, I see,” Tony added a little meanly with a look towards Ducky.

“It’s fine,” said Gibbs firmly.

“Jethro is allowed to remove the sling for an hour or so a day. He will be putting it back on later,” said Ducky equally firmly.

“Philip Moss was here earlier. Said you were going to take up a place at the barn,” said Tony abandoning the subject of the sling although he was looking forward to witnessing the upcoming battle.

In deference to his sore shoulder, Gibbs didn’t give his customary shrug, “Thinking about it. Turns out I like teaching. ‘Specially as all I need to do is demonstrate and they learn by watching and doing.”

“Sounds about right,” said Tim with a nod to Tony.

Tony’s head turned towards the café again as he heard the sound of Tali jumping up and down.

“Tim,” said Gibbs quickly, “I meant to ask you … about the house …”

Tony was distracted enough to abandon his investigation of the noise.

“The house?” quavered Tim.

“Yeah, you know. That thing with four walls and a roof.”

“Oh … yes. Of course, I know what a house is. I just wondered what you wanted to say about it.”

“You look worried, Tim? Everything all right?” asked Gibbs.

“Of course, what could be wrong?” gulped Tim.

“Nothing … I hope,” said Gibbs grimly.

“Well …” said Tim.

“But I forgot to tell you … the bathroom …”

“We love the bathroom,” said Tim earnestly.

A soft look dawned on Gibbs’ face, “Shannon chose the tiles herself. I wasn’t sure I liked them but … what’s wrong?” Tim had emitted a groan – it was all worse, much worse than he had thought possible.

“Nothing, Boss … guess that wind is getting to me too.”

“It’s dead calm, Tim,” said Gibbs.

“Oh, then maybe it was just talking about it? Or maybe I’m catching it from Tali.”

Gibbs shook his head, it wasn’t the first time he hadn’t understood what made Tim tick, “Anyways, I wanted to tell you …”

“We’ll take real good care of it,” said Tim, wondering if they could use the kitchen sink for their ablutions in future and lock the bathroom door.

“I’m sure. No, I forgot to tell you … and it doesn’t show on the inventory … but the day before I moved out, I dropped my coffee mug in the bathroom. Chipped one of the tiles.”

Gibbs was accustomed to stunned silences when he made announcements, but he hadn’t expected one this time.

“You chipped a tile? _You_ chipped a tile?” demanded Tim eventually.

“Sure, it’s not the end of the world,” said Gibbs casually.

“It isn’t?”

“Nope. And there’s a box of leftover tiles in the basement somewhere. I know someone who does tiling, I’ll get him to call you.”

Tim sat stunned for about two seconds and then burst into a giggle much like those which had been afflicting Tali all day.

“Timothy? Are you quite well?” asked Ducky in concern, “I trust you have not been working too hard? Perhaps the sea air is over invigorating you? I have read cases where …”

“I’m fine, Ducky,” Tim finally managed to say, “I’m fine. Better than I have been for a long time.”

“Indeed, that is good news,” said Ducky doubtfully, “But, with your permission – and indeed, _without_ your permission – I will monitor your condition for the rest of the day.

Tim laughed again but there was less of an hysterical edge to it this time so Ducky’s worries were ameliorated.

“Now?” came Tali’s excited voice.

“Excuse me, guys,” said Tony, “I really need to see what’s going on.

“Sit down, Tony,” said Gibbs, “You’re about to find out.”

At that moment, Tali emerged from the café carefully carrying a large cake with candles on it. She was closely followed by Mac, Millie and John Sutherland who were all keeping a watchful eye on her progress.

“I think I’ll take it now,” said Mac after Tali had managed a few steps, “It’s very heavy and we don’t want an accident, do we?” Tali frowned but her face cleared as Mac made haste to say, “And after you and Nana Lacey have spent so long frosting it … we don’t want it spoiled, do we?” Tali nodded and allowed the cake to be removed from her grasp although she made sure to walk as close to Mac as possible.

“Happy birthday, Dada!” she shrieked when she was within a yard of her father.

Tony winced, he sometimes wondered if his hearing would survive Tali’s childhood. “Thank you, Tali but … er … it’s not my birthday.”

“You were in hospital on your birthday,” said Millie, “And Tali was disappointed you didn’t have a party, so we promised we’d have one when you were better.”

“And you better!” shouted Tali.

“Indoor voice,” asked Tony.

“But we not indoors!” cried the logical Tali.

“Pretend we are,” pleaded Tony, “We can all hear you. There’s a lot of candles,” said Tony a little gloomily, “I’m not that old, am I?”

“Tali wanted her birthday candles on the cake as well,” explained John, “And Mac’s. If that makes you feel better?”

Tony nodded gratefully.

“Blow them out!” said Tali, thankfully at a lower volume.

“You help me,” said Tony who suspected that she would whether or not she was invited to.

The candles were duly blown out and Ducky refrained both from pointing out that it was an unhygienic process and from giving a potted history of candles on birthdays cakes. Millie took control of the cake cutting and soon everyone was paying slices of cake the reverence due any of Millie’s creations. Tony suddenly realised why he’d only been given a cup of tea and a cracker; Millie had been leaving him room for one of her special meals.

“Presents!” said Tali as soon as she had finished her piece of cake.

It was a sign that Tali had grown up that she didn’t insist on opening Tony’s presents for him as she had on his previous birthday, but she watched with fascination as he opened the gifts from everyone.

“You knew!” he said accusingly to everyone sitting close to him.

This time, Gibbs did shrug … and then winced as he regretted the movement. Ducky’s sharp gaze did not miss the gesture and Tony was pretty sure Gibbs would soon be wearing the hated sling again.

Tali was puzzled that none of her father’s presents seemed to be toys but she was beginning to understand that grown-ups liked different things to her. She looked hopeful when Tony opened the gift from Tim and displayed a basketball.

“I looked up the guys you played with in the Final Four,” he said, “Got them to sign it for you.”

“Wow,” gasped Tony, “That’s great, Tim. Thank you. Tali, we don’t play with this ball, understand?”

Tali nodded although this was yet another thing she didn’t understand. As far as she was concerned, balls were for playing with.

“Thought you might like these,” said John casually, as he passed a large flat package to Tony.

Tony opened it carefully and revealed a portfolio of sketches and watercolours of Tali, Tony and their little house.

“Sometimes, drawings are better than photographs,” said John with a shrug worthy of Gibbs.

Tony looked at the drawings and couldn’t help but agree; they were a wonderful record of Tali growing up. And, he also knew, that it was a valuable gift in material terms as John’s work was highly sought after. “Thanks, John, they’re great.” Tali was more interested in the sketches than she was in Tony’s other gifts and they leafed through them together.

“Thanks, everyone,” said Tony, “For everything.” He smiled as he looked around the table and realised that _everything_ encompassed a huge amount of care and affection. “And you,” he said turning to his daughter, “Was this why you were such a wriggly, giggly girl all day?”

Tali nodded, “It was a secret!”

“And you kept it very well,” praised Tony, relieved that he didn’t need to look up _giggling daughters_ in his trusty _Traumas, Triumphs and All Points Between – the Single Father’s Guide to Bringing up Daughters_ by Hugo Delacroix.

“Who’s ready for sandwiches and more cake?” asked Millie.

The _me_ was loud and unanimous. Tony smiled again, the troubles he sometimes experienced in Milsom Bay were more than outweighed by the good things which happened there …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has taken an interest in the story. Milsom Bay belongs to me but the NCIS characters are returned to their creators with thanks.


End file.
